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HARVEY C. LOWRANCE 

Author 






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MELVIN MACE 

A STORY OF ^ 

A ZIJSIC MINE 


BY 

HARVEY C. LOWRANCE 

#1 

(Pronounced Lo’rance) 

Kansas City and Joplin, 
Missouri 



Press op 

FRANKLIN HUDSON PUBLISHING COMPANY 
Kansas City, Missouri 


Copyright 1915 


BY 

HARVEY C. LOWRANCE 


©CI,A41191 5 

^ a, 


OCT -4 1915 



To the many who have located valuable miner- 
als, and either gave them away or were defrauded 
out of their discoveries by bad laws or bad people, 
this little romance is sympathetically dedicated, hop- 
ing it may, in some way, become “rivers of water in 
dry places, the shadow of a great rock in a weary 
land.” 

The Author. 


Kansas City and Joplin, Mo. 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Harvey C. Lowrance 4 

Melvin Mace 25 ^ 

The Chipmunk Mine 83 ^ 

Heck Bruce 129 

Lewis Cass Howe 155 

Quita 187 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chapter 

Chaptes 

Chapter 

Chapter 


Page. 


I. Mace comes to the zin^; fields 11 

II. Hello! Who is ahead? 14 

III. The Sunday outing 16 

IV. Mace and Long’s interests 27 

V. The Chipmunk’s partners 33 

VI. Signs of success 42 

VII. Financial disaster levels its big guns on 

the Chipmunk 49 

VIII. Howe’s first visit to Mace in the tents. 68 

IX. The Chipmunk, a Star producer 75 

X. Sale of the big mine for $265,000, after 

producing over $600,000 net 85 

XI. Seven years peace and plenty 90 

XII. Davy Crocket’s marriage 94 

XIII. Quita’s dream 101 

XIV. Experience the greatest teacher lOT 

XV. The Chipmunker's banquet 121 

XVI. Van Noggle against Bruce 131 

XVII. Flowers under the snow 157 

XVIII. McGuire’s reminiscences 167 

XIX. Craft cheats womanhood 175 

XX. The Jack O’ Spades 179 

XXI. Misdirected energy 184 

XXII. McGuire’s return from Arizona after 

the battle 186 




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CHAPTER I. 


I think it was nineteen years ago the middle of this next 
June, and dangerously near the ominous thirteenth day of the 
month, about ten o’clock in the forenoon, that a mover with a 
two-horse wagon drove slowly up a sloping street into the zinc 
metropolis of southwest Missouri. 

There was nothing about the outfit to excite interest or at- 
tract attention; the man stopped near a busy corner, got out 
of the wagon, walked to a young man who stood near where 
the curbstone now is, and inquired for a place to camp in 
the suburbs. 

The stranger looked fagged, but exhibited a bearing and 
dignity that seemed to denote sense, breeding, experience, edu- 
cation, and many other qualities not possessed by all overland 
emigrants. 

Quite a rote of questions and answers were passed between 
them. The resident was a young attorney, who had lived in 
the town about a year; his cases had been “angel visits,” as he 
put it ; he had spent much of the year in familiarizing himself 
with the adjacent country, and hence was well stocked with 
knowledge about the surroundings, and easily informed the 
newcomer of a desirable place on the creek, a mile or so north, 
where movers usually stopped — a general rendezvous for horse- 
traders, fortune-tellers, and the like. 

Just before departing the newcomer said to the lawyer: 
“My name is Melvin Mace; I want to thank you for your 
kindness and express the hope that we may meet again.” 

The young man handed him his card, which read : “Lewis 
C. Howe, Attorney at Law.” Mace took the card, deposited 
it between the sweat-stained backs of a small daybook, placing 

11 


12 


MELVIN MACE; 


it in his pocket, and remarked: ‘'I’ll keep this, although I 
also keep a comfortable distance from court-houses. The fu- 
ture holds so many things, however, your services as a lawyer 
might be among them.” So saying, he bade the lawyer good 
day, and turned the horses in the direction of the camping-place. 

As the outfit slowly went away their appearance perhaps 
attracted no one’s notice but Howe’s. He watched them earn- 
estly; the bay horses, wagon, sideboards, sheet, feed-box, fly- 
nets, high spring seat with red blanket for cushion, and the 
closely built, intelligent-faced driver, all seemed to be photo- 
graphed on his mind, and formed a negative on which he might 
spend months retouching and then find something more to 
develop. 

He went to his office, sat near a little front window, took 
a professional chew of tobacco, and proceeded to champ it as 
though thoroughly preparing it for digestion, never relaxing 
his dental mill until the grist was an unrecognizable pulp. 
He continued to think about the man in the wagon, questioned 
and cross-examined himself about him. ‘ ‘ Was the man alone ? ’ ’ 
‘‘How far had he come?” ‘‘Was he married?” ‘‘Did he have 
one, two, or five children at home, with some patient and self- 
sacrificing mother?” “What is his occupation?” “Where is 
he going from this place? and when?” These unanswered 
questions passed through his mind with rapid-fire quickness- 
He sat as one in real pantomime. Something said a lesson had 
been assigned him; where was he to recite, and what grade 
on a scale of one hundred would he make? Little did he dream 
he had that day laid the ground-work of a structure whose 
walls, doors, and fences would ever keep the hungry wolf 
securely warded away. 

Time passed and sultry June ticked her last little second; 
July was ushered in as usual with her quota of rockets, Roman 
candles, and the regular introductory of: “My countrymen. 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


13 


ladies and gentlemen : It is with the greatest misgivings, dis- 
trust, and lack of confidence that I attempt to address you on 

this, the anniversary of our most noble and glorious 

Howe's law business lingered in the vicinity of zero, de- 
spite the soaring mercury in his office thermometer. His local 
competitors for legal distinction were stiff, distant, and un- 
friendly. 


14 


MELVIN MACE; 


CHAPTER II. 

‘ ‘ Hello there ! hello ! ' ' 

“Who's ahead — the flesh, the devil, or filthy lucre?" 

These words, like slag from a blast furnace, came through 
Howe's office door early one Sunday morning in July, and were 
spoken by a young man something like twenty years of age, 
one of Howe's acquaintances, who clerked in a store across the 
street from his office. His name was White. The two had 
formed a liking for each other in the months past. 

Howe laid by the little Sunday morning paper that had 
been engrossing his attention and gave White a staring look 
with the remark: “What part of your triple-headed question 
do you want me to answer first?" 

“Makes no difference." 

“Well then," said Howe, “my field officers inform me that 
the flesh and the devil have agreed to suspend hostilities until 
cooler weather; as to the filthy lucre part of your interrogatory, 
I 'm like the little country boy who went to a neighbor's house 
one cold day and, after leisurely warming himself, told them 
that his mother was burned. The neighbor lady asked him if 
she was burned much. Stammering and hesitating for three 
or four minutes, he finally replied. ‘Much?' said he; ‘she's 
burned square up, if you call that much.' Filthy lucre I 
haven't any; I reckon this hot weather has burned it square up." 

“Bad enough," continued White, “but might be worse. 
I 've every cent of my last week's salary, and feel puffed up on 
account of its possession. Don't know but that purse pride is 
as bad as bankruptcy. Let's go over to the ‘ J. S.' livery stable 
and get one of their two-fifteen high-hookers and take a drive. 
Nothing better could be prescribed; it ought to be a criminal 
offense to stay housed up a Sunday like this." 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


15 


Howe’s system responded to White’s offer with the spon- 
taneous alacrity that it would had he just received a fat re- 
tainer in a divorce case with a ruby-lipped and lodestone-eyed 
brunette for a client. 

The horse and buggy were hired for the day — a little tick- 
bitten, blaze-faced sorrel, the meanest color for man or beast. 
After luncheon had been gathered together, consisting of what 
things Howe could forage at his boarding-house on Sunday 
morning, which he denominated bookkeeper’s food — '‘balance 
brought forward,” or “yesterday’s footings” — the two were 
off for their outing. 


16 


MELVIN MACE; 


CHAPTER III. 

The firmament never appeared more unclouded ; it seemed 
to have deposited its moisture in some far-away ocean, there to 
await the mandate to come forth in microscopic minuteness, 
striking the frigid strata of earth garret, to precipitate and 
slake the thirst of Nature's dependent throat. 

Regretfully do we note that on this lovely morning our 
ramblers were forbidden the sight of the babbling brooks, of 
lowing herds and fleecy flocks; they passed no little stone 
churches, and few, if any, old farm-houses with “meadows 
wide" and old oaken buckets dangling from sweeps above 
rock- walled wells just off the vine-covered porches. No holly- 
hocks inside the garden pickets deigned to rear their podded 
stalks and purple leaves to relieve the weary travelers' yearning 
for variegation. Such scenes of spectacular grandeur were not 
on exhibition. 

No spotted-winged mocking bird or speckled-breasted jay 
called his mate from the topmost limbs of the hedge or wild 
cherry, and no meadow lark, balanced on wire fence's top 
strand or telegraph line, taunted them with the familiar old 
chestnut, “ Laziness will kill you." Mr. Quail, with his trumpet- 
like but impassioned voice, saying, “Bob White, is peas ripe? 
No, not quite," was also conspicuous for his absence. No 
milkmaid “fair with golden hair" was seen driving old Spot 
and old Boss to the pasture gate, leering the while, and won- 
dering who, why, and where? And there were no Berkshire 
pigs imbibing the lacteal fluid from their flop-eared mother's 
bosom to nourish their little stomachs, embryonic and unbot- 
tled pepsin, to be used at no distant day to soothe the stomachs 
of the children of other hogs, who, though their ears were not 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


17 


so floppy, were still to exhibit all the traits and habits known 
to swinedom. 

All this and these the outers had to forego, and view the 
scenery on the program. It is not our purpose to here relate 
how they longed for such things, what a relief an old moss- 
canopied water-wheel below the mill would have been, or how 
refreshing and comforting if some Maud Muller had handed 
them her little tin cup brim - full of aqua pura^ not from a 
bacteria-lined and microbe-swarming water-barrel, but from 
one of Nature’s gushers that flowed over the sward and across 
the highway. 

But, instead of the longed-for, they were compelled to see 
what to both of them — and especially to White — had long since 
worn from the familiar to the extremely common. To those 
unacquainted with mining-camps and their surroundings too 
much descriptive usually mystifies. White had been reared 
from infancy in the zinc-mining district, had been among 
mines and miners for years. Not one place had been seen 
but was a many-times-told tale to him; the shafts, derricks, 
machinery, pumps, ore-bins, and waste rock, all were famil- 
iarity personified. 

At last noon came — slowly, but surely. The sun had 
reached his meridian height. Our tourists, after feeding the 
horse in the back part of the buggy, began to explore the 
secret archives of the dinner-basket. They found some canned 
beef, bread buttered, a bottle of pickles, some boiled eggs and 
cookies, all of which disappeared to the jig time of “Now you 
see it and now you don’t.” 

After dinner, which was appreciated with the keenest 
relish, their talk continued like this: 

“White, what do you think about yourself from the view- 
point of matrimony? Do you ever think seriously of such 
a thing?” 


18 


MELVIN MACE; 


“No,’' said he, “I’ve long since made up my mind that 
I’ve no right to set up a brace game, sell tickets for a good 
price and compel some innocent girl to draw a blank, which , 
of course, she’d be absolutely certain to do. I tell you can- 
didly, Howe, this marriage question is the most stupendous 
proposition that does now or ever did confront the human 
race, and there are more folks married now than have plenty 
of cold grub in the cupboard. 

“We don’t have to go to ancient history or the densely 
populated centers of the Old World for examples. Only look 
at my friend Long, who got killed in the mines a week or so 
ago — went back on a shot — head blown off — leaves a wife and 
three httle girls, all as helpless as a mountain trout in Sahara’s 
desert, and, what’s worse, there is going to be another baby.’’ 

“Too bad, too bad,” said Howe. 

“Yes, sir; and I heard only yesterday his partners were 
going to forfeit his interest in the mine unless the poor woman 
will pay twelve dollars per week — one-fourth of the expenses — 
or furnish a man to work in his place. She can’t commence 
to do either one, for she’ll have a desperate struggle to make 
bread and money. Let me tell you,” White continued, “do 
you know that I believe she’d be amply justified in pronouncing 
life a failure, hoist the white flag, and give up the fight?” 

“I don’t know about that,” Howe rejoined; “maybe 
she’ll make a scratch and, by some good luck, win out after all.” 

“It will be a scratch if she does; she’s got about as many 
chances to win as a sheep has to kill a butcher.” 

“A sheep might kill a butcher — after its own death,” said 
Howe; “you know a gorge of mutton is hard to digest.” 

“True enough, Howe; but Long’s widow and orphan 
children are not going to suffer from indigestion.” 

“I hope not; that’s almost as bad as hunger; I’ve tried 
both. Be that as it may, while it’s in order, I have a sug- 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


19 


gestion to make: let’s you and I go to work to-morrow 
morning and do all we can to prevent the partners from de- 
frauding her out of that property. I ’ve heard about it before; 
it’s well worth fifteen or twenty thousand dollars.” 

‘‘Agreed,” White responded; “there’s nothing honorable 
that I will not do to protect her and the little ones. You must 
be the moving spirit in the premises, however, but I ’ll execute 
your orders, perform every duty, and discharge all obligations 
that devolve in any way on me.” 

“Now that’s the way to talk, old boy. If we can’t occupy 
a pulpit on Sunday at a large salary made up in parts of widows’ 
mites, we can at least contribute our own ^mights ’ to the pro- 
tection of this widow and the hereditary rights of her fatherless 
babes.” 

“That’s a good resolution and timely suggestion,” White 
added, tightening the lines while they crossed a small ravine. 

From matrimony, domestic infelicity, widowhood and or- 
phanage, their conversation drifted to other topics, mostly of 
a local nature, until time for them to begin their return toward 
home. When within about one mile of town, their horse began 
to develop qualities of alarming ugliness; the least noise would 
terrify him, the clatter of his own hoofs in the dust increased 
his dismay. At last, overcome with fear, he passed to a go — 
went — gone, and was soon redeeming the pledges and fulfilling 
the promises made in the morning by his owner. 

Howe quickly grabbed the lines from his friend, and with 
all his strength sat back on them, one of which broke from the 
bit, and the continuous pull on the other one reined the un- 
manageable steed to the side of the road, and before he could 
be checked up or stopped he ran into and through a mover’s 
camp and against a fence that was “horse high and cow strong.” 

The young men alighted and hastened back to the camp 
to ascertain and repair the damages, if any, that had been done. 


20 


MELVIN MACE; 


The first and only person that attracted their attention was a 
man sitting on a camp-stool near a covered wagon; he was of 
medium size, about five feet and seven inches in height, and 
would weigh probably one hundred and sixty pounds. Before 
they had time to commence or arrange to make reparation for 
damages, the stranger greeted them: 

“Hello, Howe! you took the side-track here without a 
signal.” 

“True enough,” said Howe; “and I think we're side- 
tracked at your station with a dead engine.” 

“You may be able to pull in with one arm,” said the 
stranger. 

“ I don't know about arms,” but I know if we pull in at all, 
it will be with one line. We came back to pay for breaking 
your utensils.” 

Diligent search about the camp only showed that one 
frying-pan had been mashed by the high-stepper's hoofs and a 
second and third dig taken at it by two of the buggy wheels. 
From its junk-like appearance, it was pronounced unfit for the 
purposes for which it was intended, and was appraised at 
twenty-five cents, which was cheerfully paid without quibble. 

“Stranger,” said Howe, “you are easy to trade with 
on Sunday.” 

“Yes, or any other day,” he replied, “for I always adhere 
closely to the old maxim, ‘Never put off till to-morrow what 
can be done to-day,' and we might add that other maxim, 
equally forceful, ‘The better the day the better the deed.' ” 

“ But how came you to call my name? I confess you have 
the best of me.” 

“I called your name,” the mover replied, “because I know 
you — have met you and am acquainted with you. That ought 
to be reason enough. Your name is Lewis C. Howe, and you 
are a lawyer — the first and last man I ever met in these parts. 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


21 


and besides, I’ve a tar-bucket memory; ’most all things that 
hit my head stay there. Many people remember faces only; 
I recollect both names and faces; I make it a specialty not to 
forget one’s name; I never wink at any person — was punished 
for that when a child ; I give them both barrels (meaning both 
eyes). If you will look at one with both eyes square in the 
face while he is telling you his name, and keep your wits, you’ll 
have no trouble in remembering both. A man who will not 
look at you in the face is planning warfare on one of two things — 
you or your purse. One who looks at your feet is not the best 
citizen and will bear plenty of scrutiny, but a person who 
filters and oozes his vision out of one little squint eye at a 
time — watch him — watch him; he’d throw rocks at a funeral, 
and push a lame dog into the creek.” 

“Whoa there. Whale!” said the mover, breaking the con- 
versation with the men and addressing one of his horses that 
had his foot over the hitch-rein. • “I call him Whale because 
he swallows so much.” 

“What do you call him?*' said Howe, pointing to his 
other animal. 

“Him’s a her,” said he, “and I call her Delilah, because 
she gnawed Whale’s mane off, and besides, she’s the heifer 
he plowed with.” 

“Mister,” said Howe, “you appear to be a Biblicist. Do 
you read the Bible much?” 

“ I did some in the early morning of life — like many other 
farmers’ sons, I hadn’t much else to read; after the sun got up 
a little, I began to think I could see as well as the ancients, 
especially with modern telescopic assistance.” 

“Yes, but can you write as well as they?” White inquired. 

“No,” said the mover, with falling voice; “if I could, I 
would hesitate about doing it, for Moses left a written account 


22 


MELVIN MACE; 


of his own death and burial. But there is one sentence in that 
book I do believe with all my mind.*' 

White asked him which one it was. 

“ ‘I said in my haste, All men are liars/ ” he replied. 

“That ought to make a man feel proud of his mother and 
sisters, wife and daughters too, if he’s got them,” said Howe. 

“It should indeed, by gum!” said the mover; “but, you 
see, David was quite a favorite among the ladies, and wanted 
to give them all the best of it, and moreover, he was in haste 
that day when he said it, and, as you lawyers say, that was his 
‘examination in chief.’ Perhaps, if he’d been subjected to a 
sharp, critical, strict, keen, and vigorous cross-examination, he 
might have admitted that the word all was intended in that 
case to mean an overwhelming majority.” 

“You may be right,” said Howe; “but the case has been 
closed so long that we can’t file a motion for a new trial, nor an 
affidavit for an appeal.” 

“Maybe not,” said the mover; “but we can do the next 
best thing, we can slip the handcuffs and sheriff, then take a 
change of venue to Arizona.” 

“Some have done so, and they are not our worst people 
either,” Howe rejoined. “But it’s late, and White and I 
must be getting to town. We’ll be compelled to make a ‘con- 
tinued in our next’ out of this call. But one word before we 
leave, mister: How are you getting along? Are the good 
people using you badly?” 

“Howe, don’t call me ‘mister.’ Webster put the two 
words, mister and misterm, next to each other in his dictionary, 
knowing they both mean the same. Just call me Mace, or 
Melvin Mace. Answering your question. I’ll say that I’ve 
been hunting a job; you know that is something that won’t 
hunt you.” 

“Have you found one?” 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


23 


“Yes — no — I found it and I didn’t find it. I thought I 
had, but when I went after it in earnest, like the will-o’-the- 
wisp that hard labor is, it ran from me.’’ 

“Did you catch it?’’ 

“No; I think some trickster bought the rider and threw 
the race. It was like this: An old skinflint employed me to 
haul stone, and he wanted me to kill Whale and Delilah the 
first load. I wouldn’t stand for it. I regard a horse-murderer 
the same as I do one who in the full possession of his reason 
kills a human being with malice, premeditatedly.’’ 

“Mace, you are a legal definer. Did you ever study law? ’ 

“No, sir; I don’t have to study it; I’ve helped make it,’’ 
he replied. “I am like a lad I knew down east; the school- 
ma’am asked him who made the earth, and he answered that 
he didn’t know; she boxed his ears and said, ‘You do know’; 
and through his sobs he replied, ‘Yes, I do know — I made it — 
but if you ’ll not punish me any more, I ’ll never make another 
one like it.’ ’’ 

“Philosophy of self-defense,’’ said Howe; “by gum! he 
was righter than right. But say, Mace, were you ever in the 
mining business?’’ 

“Yes; I’m in it now,’’ he replied, “min’ing my own 
business.’’ 

“But I mean, did you ever dig, delve, and search down in 
the vaults of the earth for valuable substances, such as silver, 
gold, iron, lead, and the like?’’ 

“ Indeed I have,’’ Mace replied; “ I ’m just from the iron- 
mines in southeast Missouri, where I ’ve been working for near 
seven years, and before going there, I worked in the coal-mines 
in Illinois, and I ’ve prospected for copper in the Northwest. 
Mine? I should say I have. Do you see this watch?’’ He 
held up a beautiful gold watch that was fastened to his clothing 
by a buckskin thong. “That was presented to me by a coal 


24 


MELVIN MACE; 


company in Illinois — a memento — and for services I rendered 
them while I was their foreman. I persuaded my men to 
refrain from taking part in a strike, and the mine-owners gave 
me this. She’s a world-wide beauty and very companionable. 
It also has a name — Miss Cookie. You see, one night I lost it 
(I was slightly under the influence of ‘shepherd’s delight,’ a 
Peoria product); my boarding-house-keeper, a Miss Cain, 
found it and gave it to me next morning. Miss Cain made 
such good cookies that the boarders called her ‘Miss Cookie,’ 
so I call my timepiece for her. Yes, siree, I’ve mined.” 

Howe then related all about the death of Long, his interest 
in a certain zinc-mine, the destitute condition of his widow and 
children, adding that it was his opinion from what he’d learned 
from White and other trustworthy soimces that it was good 
property, and that Mrs. Long would gladly let someone have 
an interest (probably one-half) if by so doing she could prevent 
forfeiture and save something for herself and luckless little ones. 

The matter was discussed in detail. It was agreed that 
Mace should come to Howe’s office the next morning early, 
and the two would see Mrs. Long, verify the current reports 
concerning the mine, if possible, and maybe effect a bargain 
with her that would be profitable to all concerned. 


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A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


27 


CHAPTER IV. 

Nothing in the galaxy of things terrestrial is subject to so 
many and diversified changes and unlooked-for alterations as 
the weather. Eight o'clock Monday morning saw Mace sit- 
ting in his covered wagon near the foot of the stair over which 
swung an unassuming little metallic sign, “L. C. Howe, At- 
torney." Dark, lowering clouds surmounted the landscape, 
and on their somber roofs, with pirate-like gluttony, devoured 
all falling sunbeams, while their murky contents refused the 
earth the conciliating influence of a summer shower. Howe 
soon arrived from his boarding-house, and the two set out at 
once to the home of Mrs. Long and the mines. The little one- 
room box house was found after diligent search, about two 
miles from the main part of the town, and was denominated, 
in the mining vernacular of that region, a “shack." About 
ten bushels of coal and a water-barrel constituted the only 
stage-settings in what might have been termed the unfenced 
front yard. 

Both men approached the house in death-like silence. 
One of them tapped gently on the front door once, twice, and 
three times — before hearing a response from within. Then 
came the feeble and forceless but withal the most melodious 
sentence that ever trickled from human lips, “Come in." 

Mace pushed the little door back and both entered. All 
the family were at home — the widow, three little girls, above 
referred to, and another wee-faced posthumous little one, a 
boy, aged three days and some odd hours. He lay nestled on 
the bed with his mother. In describing this branch of the 
Long family tree, it will be best to recur back to the buried father 
and husband. He was a born gentleman of Southern par- 


28 


MELVIN MACE; 


entage; had been educated and well trained in boyhood; was 
polite, easy, and graceful in manners and behavior; had taught 
school, kept books, sold goods, and followed such other occu- 
pations before coming to this part of the country. Finally, 
Vhen the gray hairs began to multiply very rapidly, he married 
the polished little sick woman who then lay before them, and 
whose winsome but pinched features rekindled within their 
memories the most sublime veneration for motherhood. After 
the marriage, he and the little wife, like many others have done 
and thousands more will do, drifted “out West,“ urged on by 
the irrepressible force of that human current whose general 
direction and destination has ever been toward the setting sun. 
And here in this mining district, as with newness of life, and 
with vigor reinforced by the activity of his neighbors, he had 
cast his anchor for the last time to brave the tempestuous sea 
of modern industrialism. 

The little girls, in the order of their ages, were : Quita, 
eleven; Faula, seven; and Luling, four; and they had already 
achieved a little local reputation on account of their immacu- 
late beauty and their pleasing little names. They were truly 
models of exquisite grace and love. Each seemed a living, 
breathing, and animate pattern of worshipful incipient woman- 
hood. Quita and Faula had large brown eyes of the dreamy 
type; Luling’s were a faultless copy of the azure sky — trans- 
parent as a mountain brook, they reflected from her little soul 
a disposition and temperament as mild and amiable as they 
were comely. Luling was a duplicate of her mother in all 
things; her voice was keyed in the same tone, her gestures 
were almost an exact imitation, and one would recognize at a 
glance the similarity of their natures. While they all showed 
unmistakable signs and tokens, almost proofs, of absolute 
perfection, Quita was pre-eminently the most winsome child 
of her years that Mace and the lawyer had ever met. Her 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


29 


answers and the ladylike way she conversed with them, as- 
suming for the time being (on account of her age) the position 
of the pronounced and undisputed head of the family, were 
beyond cavil exhibitions of superior childhood, the like of 
which both afterward avowed they had never before seen. 

‘'Do I have the honor of addressing Mrs. Long?'’ said 
Mace, as he lifted his hat and advanced a step toward the bed. 

“Yes, sir; and who may be you, who have condescended 
to call on me and my little brood in this wretched hovel?” 

“My name is Melvin Mace, and the young man with me 
is Howe — Lewis C. Howe, a lawyer who lives up town. He is 
a stranger to me,” said Mace in a subdued tone of voice while 
his friend was talking to the little girls, “but my impression 
is that he’s upright. Let me assure you, lady, that our mission 
is not one of mischief, and that we design no hurt or harm to 
you or yours.” He then told her with brevity what they had 
heard relative to the interest of her late husband in what was 
then known as the Chipmunk Mine. 

Few words were exchanged in the consummation of a 
contract. Mrs. Long told them as best she could all about the 
interest she and the children were supposed to have, and that 
they were three weeks behind with their payments; that news 
had come to her the day before that the men had already dis- 
covered a large run of valuable zinc ore; the names of the 
other members of the co-partnership, the location of the mine, 
and so on; and, in order that both parties might fully under- 
stand each and all parts of the agreement, they had Howe 
reduce it to writing, which he did in a plain business hand. 
Copies were made, and each retained one, after their respective 
signatures had been affixed. Tuesday having long been re- 
garded a lucky day, it was further agreed verbally that he 
would begin the discharge of his duties the next morning. 

Scarcely anything in the little house had been overlooked. 


30 


MELVIN MACE; 


Before leaving, they observed the wonderful neatness and 
cleanliness and the tidy and orderly manner in which the fur- 
niture was kept; a combination book-case and writing-desk 
sat near the little window; on the wall, to the left of this, were 
three pictures of the old school kind, but quite attractive. 
The first one being very near Howe, he looked at it eagerly and 
read the almost faded subscript: ‘'Battle of Horseshoe Bend, 
Alabama, March 29th, A. D. 1814. Between three thousand 
Tennessee Militia and seven hundred friendly Cherokee In- 
dians, commanded by Andrew Jackson, and eight hundred 
Creek Indian warriors. The Creeks were overwhelmingly re- 
pulsed, over five hundred being killed; the remainder sued for 
peace.’' The next one, which was suspended by a beautiful 
cord, was the portrait of a man, apparently about fifty years 
of age; the undimmed eyes gazed placidly at the beholder 
from any point in the little room, and seemed to appeal to one 
with parental affection to pause and read the legend there- 
under appended: “John Howard Payne, born, 1792; died, 
1852. Was United States Minister to Tunis, in all, six years. 
As a song poet his renown is unsurpassed; his one effort has 
glorified the western world — he was the author of ‘ Home, Sweet 
Home. ’ ’ ’ The third picture was not so attractive or fascin- 
ating, but came in for its due share of observation. It rep- 
resented a shady dell, through which flowed an exceedingly 
limpid but swift-running stream; at intervals, however, be- 
tween the rapids, the water stood in deep pools, but of crystal- 
like clearness; in one of these reservoirs, seemingly beneath 
its transparent surface, could easily be discerned the face of a 
most beautiful maiden in the cold embrace of death. Under 
this was written with ink, “Drowning of Ophelia’’; and at the 
right side and below was added: “Her garments, heavy with 
their drink, pulled the poor wretch from her melodious lay to 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


31 


muddy death/’ Both men were now intently looking at this 
picture. 

Howe turned to Quita, and asked: ‘Xittle one, do you 
know who wrote the lines under this picture?” 

“Yes; my papa did it years ago, when Faula was a little 
babe not much larger than our little brother there. I remember 
well he copied it from the book we have there in the case.” 

Their attention was attracted to the book-case, and through 
the glass doors could be seen in well-arranged and orderly 
manner the complete works of William Shakespeare, Byron’s 
poems, Victor Hugo’s novels, many of Dickens’ works, and 
about one hundred other books, all standard productions from 
eminent authors. 

“I see you have good books,” said Howe, still addressing 
Quita. 

“Yes, sir; they were papa’s. Many were given him when 
a boy, but now, since he ’s gone, mamma thinks we need other 
things more than books, so she has decided that we must sell 
them and the pictures. Some of them are quite valuable and 
ought to sell well. Could you send us a buyer for them, or 
some of them?” 

Howe turned his face away from the child and made more 
than one vigorous endeavor to reply to her emotional inquiry, 
but all in vain, for, had his tongue been torn out, his organs of 
speech would not more obstinately have refused utterance. 
As a finale, however, of his indistinct words, he slowly shook 
his head and said: “No, little one, I cannot.” Continuing, 
he told her he would talk with her mamma and try to arrange 
for them to keep the books and pictures. Before their de- 
parture, he mentioned the matter to Mrs. Long, and sought 
to impress upon her that the books were far more valuable to 
her and the children than to any other person. 

“ I know all you say is true, Mr. Howe,” she replied; “but 


32 


MELVIN MACE; 


this is not a question of value or worth, but of necessity. We 
have expended all our money but one dollar, and while we have 
had plenty, it is very evident to me that my little ones will 
soon be in want.” 

“Maybe not, lady; IVe been barricading and fortifying 
all my life to obstruct the progress of humanity’s arch enemy, 
the hungry wolf, and I believe I can get a decision over him in 
this round if I have a fair referee.” So saying, he gave her his 
card with some highly colored piece of paper under it, that 
was neatly folded and almost escaped Mace’s notice. 

After good-byes, they left. On their foggy way back 
both maintained the reticence of a Quaker meeting, evidently 
weighing and reflecting upon what they had seen and heard 
at the humble home. By and by, as if moved by some spirit, 
Mace turned to Howe and asked: “What was that you gave 
the lady with your card?” 

“What did it look like?” 

“ It looked like a flashy tinsel or some gaudy paper.” 

“Oh, yes; it was a note.” 

“A note?” said Mace, with a rising inflection in his voice. 
“Who wrote it?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“And what was on it?” 

“I don’t know that either, but it said something about 
twenty dollars having been deposited at Washington, payable 
to bearer on demand.” 

“By gum! Howe; if you are not a good man, you are such 
a perfect imitation as would fool strangers.” 

An order was given a suburban merchant at the little house 
that day for some groceries and nourishing foodstuffs, with a 
request to send a receipted bill. The sun concluded his daily 
circuit, and, throwing his refulgent beams under the gold-laced 
curtains of the west, sank down to his night’s repose as calmly 
as the baby boy nestled beside her, the sweet authoress of 
his existence. 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


33 


CHAPTER V. 

I deem it meet to here narrate somewhat about the partners 
in the Chipmunk other than Mrs. Long, and to begin, one 
Heck Bruce, a blacksmith, owned one-fourth, and Wes Lane 
and Tip Lane, brothers, owned an undivided one-fourth each; 
and of all the disagreeable, cross, irritable, and impatient men 
on the round earth, these Lane brothers easily stood at the 
head of the class, being so abominably obdurate they would 
not have breathed air had not their automatic nostrils gulped 
it in without consultation or conference with their desires. 
Both worked at the mines. Bruce did not make a hand, but 
furnished instead a buxom, big-hearted young Swede, Peterson 
by name, who was very affable as well as industrious, and was 
something of a wit. When asked by anyone his given name, 
he invariably replied: ‘'Oo youst gass one time.’' Of course, 
anyone would say '‘Ole,” which was correct. And if he was 
further interrogated as to his age, he would say: "Ay youst 
lat oo gass dad; Ay tank oo bin dam gude gasser.” 

Ole was honest, truthful, and very observant. Mace’s 
wagon and two tents on the ground early his first morning there 
had the same effect on the Lane brothers that the proverbial 
red flag does on the cow’s indignant relative. Without waiting 
for any reception committee or flourish of trumpets, Mace ap- 
peared at the main shaft soon as the others were there, showed 
his copy of the contract with Mrs. Long, and reported ready 
for duty. Both the Lanes spoke up, their voices being as well 
united as trained musicians, telling him that Long had no in- 
terest until thirty-six dollars was paid to them, and that his 
widow and children were ragamuffins and tramps; that no 
piece of paper like the one he exhibited, signed by him or her, 


34 


MELVIN MACE; 


would (not in the hands of a sheriff) have the force and effect 
of an execution on their property, using many vile and hateful 
epithets and much profanity to strengthen their extravagant 
and sweeping declarations. Mace told them, in the mannerly 
and straightforward way that always characterized his dealings 
that he came to them as a business man on a business mission, 
that war was one thing he was very desirous of avoiding; at the 
same time taking thirty-six dollars from his pocket, he offered 
it to Wes, the one who stood nearest him. He was much the 
larger and stronger of the brothers, and far exceeded Mace in 
height and weight. 

“ I’ll not take her measley money, not one damn cent of it,” 
said Wes, “and don’t you tender it to me — I forbid it.” 

“And I violate your order,” said Mace instantly. 

Infuriated by Mace’s reply, Wes stepped towards him 
with clenched fists, and yelled at him furiously: “And I don’t 
like your looks either.” 

“You’ll like my looks far better than your own in a brace 
of minutes,” Mace rejoined. 

By this time the two men were within easy reach of each 
other. Lane striking overhanded at Mace with all his strength. 
It developed early that Mace was a dodger and ducker of the 
extraordinary kind, and would have been called a “ top-notcher ” 
in fistic parlance. He kept out of Lane’s way as easily as a 
hawk could keep from a prairie fire. After Wes had landed on 
the atmosphere a dozen or more good stiff blows, Mace re- 
laxed his guard and let his awkward and clumsy antagonist 
strike him a glancing stroke on the left shoulder, and this ap- 
parent score of success in his favor fed the flickering flame of 
hope within him so much that he plunged at Mace with venge- 
ance on his brow and murder in his heart, seeming to double his 
speed and force at each thrust. At length, as Mace afterwards 
said, he became tired of wasting so much ammunition on the 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


35 


skirmish-line, and as Wes relaxed his muscles in the termination 
of one of his giant-like rushes Mace took a fine bead sight at 
him about one inch in front and a little below Wes’s left ear 
with his right first. No mountainer ever sped a bullet of de- 
struction in the direction of a squirrel head with more un- 
erring accuracy. Mace could have said as did the immortal 
bard of Avon, “’Twas mine; ’tis his.” Wes fell; and not like 
the tall king of the forest yielding to the untiring energy of the 
woodman with his keen axe, but like a milk-white flake of snow 
crystals he sank down as if apologizing to the greensward for 
so impolitely imposing his lameness upon its grassy mat. He 
kept on sinking, his eyes rolled back in their sockets, his lips 
turned pale, and his limbs quivered as he lay. These condi- 
tions only distinguished him from lifelessness, his fierceness and 
savagery having vanished, and seemingly his life was not far 
in the rear of them. Failing to resuscitate as soon as Mace 
thought he should, Mace hastened to his wagon and returned 
with a flask of the real American fiuid bottled in bond eight 
years previous. Nothing would have delighted Wes more 
than this liquid had he been precisely compos mentisy for of all 
sweet sounds that ever gladdened his ears, '‘Come on, boys,” 
was by odds the most sweet; but at this juncture the spirit of 
corn had to be administered to him in dreamland. 

It has long been the desire of humanitarians that in the 
warfare of the future projectiles and shells may be loaded with 
narcotics, which on bursting will give out sleep-producing 
fumes; in this manner a whole army may be thrust into in- 
voluntary repose and subsequently awakened into peaceable 
captivity. This hope of philanthropists, dormant for ages, 
was well-nigh attained in this affray, for after resuscitation 
Wes was as docile as a Belgian hare. Leaving the ring, the 
scene of his late humiliating defeat, he came back to the shaft, 
and for quite a while remained silent, during which time his 


36 


MELVIN MACE; 


brother became very belligerent, making all kinds of direful 
threats against Mace, offering to take up the gauge of battle 
where his unhappy brother had left it. Mace remained per- 
fectly still, and gave Tip a very hard and direct look. Seeing 
that a fatherly frown was proving a poor sedative, he motioned 
with his left hand for Tip to keep away from him; both the 
frown and motion were about to be unavailing as methods of 
self-defense, when Mace commenced to reason with him after 
this manner: 

“Say, boy, if you can't bite hard, don't show your teeth. 
I'm a storage battery, and there are scores more of the stiff 
ones in stock where the one came from your friend here ran 
against. It would do me no good to give you pain, and you 
still less; you'd better be a smooth-faced coward than a black- 
eyed bully. I saw you start toward me with the pick-handle, 
and also saw him [pointing to Ole] take it away from you while 
he [pointing to Wes] was getting ready for his finish. You 
couldn 't hit me with that billet working eight hours a day from 
now till frost ; you couldn't win this game if your hand was all 
trumps and you had your partner's best thrown in." 

Mace's prudent remarks blunted the keenness of Tip's 
pugilistic inclination as effectually as his well-directed blow had 
rendered Wes's engine of slaughter steamless. By this time 
the brothers were both listening to Mace's every utterance, and 
Ole came in for his share of attention. About the first well- 
defined pause Mace made in his comments. Ole availed himself 
of the opportunity, and explained to him as above set out the 
respective interest that each partner had in the mine, adding 
also that he was only working for Mr. Bruce, and claimed no 
right or title to the property; also suggesting that he thought 
it best to go and get Bruce to come out forthwith, in the hope 
that the trouble might be adjusted. Ole's diplomacy was con- 
curred in by all, Mace hinting that an invitation to Mrs. Long 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


37 


to attend would be in keeping with fairness, but, on account of 
her recent illness, she would be compelled to decline. 

Bruce came in due time, and the quintette organized for 
business by electing him their presiding officer. He was a man 
of vast experience; had been born in eastern Tennessee, and was 
then about fifty-six years of age; giving his own words, ‘'had 
not been reared at all, was branded at a general roundup, and 
turned out with the rest of the neighborhood stock; had been 
in the Union Army four years during the big Jeff Davis war, 
and had fit like a yaller dog with a black mouth.'' His grand- 
fathers had both been with Marion in the Revolution; one of 
them was paid off in the old Continental money, which was 
never redeemed — his uncles and aunts had some of it “till 
plumb yit"; his guardian carried him to Greeneville when he 
was a mere shaver; he there read the sign of “A. Johnson, 
Tailor," who was afterwards President of the United States; 
he had seen blood and brains on many a contested old cotton- 
field; his mother he could not remember, except like a dream 
or vague vision; someone held him up by the arms and said 
something to him; he looked into a coffin and saw her face — 
it was white; he saw his brothers and father there, and beside 
the dead mother lay a tiny-faced infant; all the people came 
and took her away; he did not go; his father came back after 
night, took him up and kissed him, and said, “Heck, your 
mother and little sister are dead." These events were inad- 
hesive, his recollection of them being indistinct. Further on, 
he remembered well, his brothers were all mean to him, except 
one. They lived in a little one-room log house, which had a 
large fireplace. 

At this juncture Bruce looked at all his auditors and asked 
them if his reminiscent discourse was taxing their patience or 
trespassing upon their time. There were cries of “No, no; go 


38 


MELVIN MACE; 


on, go on!’* Resuming his narrative, he indicated that Ole 
had told him of the early morning difficulty. 

“Yes, boys, I ’m sorry you had the trouble; it adds another 
weight to my burden-laden shoulders.” He spoke touchingly. 
“All we positively know about trouble is that it is absolutely 
certain to cease; the great charnel-house of the tomb is the last 
havoc, but the immortal Bums tells us that it is the poor man’s 
dearest friend. Experience teaches that his words are true. 
My life has been one continuous up-hill pull, and the further I 
get the steeper the hill and the slicker the track. The shadows 
of death are not terrifying to me. I have felt the distress and 
strain of pinching poverty, undergone privations, encountered 
dangers, and endured hardships; and for what? I repeat, for 
what? Is it to earn the sweet repose that is due us in the little 
ditch? If so, many of us are entitled to a lengthy nap. 

“Well, my history didn’t stop with my mother’s death. 
At eight years of age my father died, leaving me penniless; 
the youngest of seven children, only one of whom cared any- 
thing for me, a brother just older — peace to his ashes — his 
memory has ever been an incessant gleam to me. At my 
father’s death this brother and I were bound out, as it was 
then called, both being given to a gruff old blacksmith who 
was owned in fee simple — body and soul — by a little bullet- 
eyed woman whose first name was Mary M. I suppose the M 
was for Magdalene, but, unlike the other Magdalene, her seven 
devils were never cast out. Her husband often said she had a 
little bottle of hell on the back of her neck and the stopper was 
out of it every day in the week except Sunday. She was very 
devotional and was an enthusiastic church-worker; no one was 
ever entirely welcome in her house but a preacher, and the 
finer-looking the minister the more welcome he was. There are 
many such women. She hated children, the old snake. And I 
also arise to remark, while I am so close to the subject, that 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


39 


there is one rule relating to the children of men that has no ex- 
ceptions, namely: A person who hates children loves no one. 
Chalk that down where it can’t be scraped off.” 

Webster in his reply to Hayne received no better attention 
from his audience than did Bruce on this occasion. Fain 
would he have closed his narrative and taken up the regular 
order of business, which, of course, was to try to arrange a 
treaty of peace, or at least a cessation of hostilities between the 
partners, and, if possible, a resumption of work; but when he 
indicated his readiness to conclude his comment, Mace asked 
him if he might propound one question. He cheerfully re- 
sponded in the affirmative, thinking, of course, it would con- 
cern their mining venture; but it was so unlike what his ex- 
pectation had mapped out that he seemed at a loss to make 
answer. Mace’s manner was plain and his words unadorned: 
“Tell us about your brother.” 

The good-natured Bruce welcomed the inquiry, and 
resumed : 

“Well, yes — my brother and I lived with the old blacksmith 
and his religious little help eat. We worked on his tillage plot 
and in the shop like poor Nellie Gray, ‘from early dawn till 
close of day,’ until the peaceful blue faded from one-third of our 
American flags, leaving red and white the remaining colors; the 
red representing blood’s crimson, the white, death’s paleness. 
In our boyish simplicity, we chose to cast our destiny with 
that tri-colored ensign whose flexible folds no people had long 
dared disrespect; upon the righteousness of that choice pos- 
terity must render its verdict — the question is not mine to fix. 

“Leaving the offensive and unpleasant elements of the 
battle-field, where my brother lost his life, the design of my 
talk and intent is to impress upon you the spirit of his last 
utterance; his broken sentences, feebly expressed but teeming 
with intellectua 1 activity, have ever since been the rule of my 


40 


MELVIN MACE; 


life. Our regiment had made three unsuccessful attempts to 
drive the enemy (our brothers) from their stronghold, and our 
company was in the van and leading another charge, my 
brother and I shoulder to shoulder. It was near the close of 
the war, and we were thoroughly inured to the scenes of battle 
and slaughter. Between the disconcerted roar of musketry I 
heard my brother call my name, and turning to him quickly, 
I saw him falling; I bent over him and asked, ‘Lewis, are you 
himt?' ‘Yes, hurt, but I have no pain,’ he replied, and then 
motioned for me to get close to him, as he had somewhat to tell 
me. A blood-thirsty bullet had accomplished its direful mis- 
sion. I held my ear very near him, and think I remember his 
every term and expression. It is a message of great value, and, 
if heeded, would almost obliterate the world’s misery: ‘Heck, 
if you live through this foolish war, always compromise your 
differences where it can be done with honor.’ Say, men, the 
sound waves there put in motion by that dying tongue more 
than a quarter-century ago vibrate in my memory to this good 
hour as clearly and vividly as life.” 

The result of Bruce’s remarks, diversified and different 
from any of their expectations, was well-nigh miraculous, and 
especially so to the warlike Lane brothers, who both now mani- 
fested a desire to leave the settlement and adjudication of the 
entire case to him. Mace assured them that he had no vote or 
voice in the matter, but was doubly certain that all Mrs. Long 
wanted or would attempt to get would be that which was legally 
and honestly the property of her and the children. Events for 
the next few minutes came thick and fast, and what might have 
been an expensive and almost endless lawsuit was adjusted and 
settled by mutual agreement with generous and liberal con- 
cessions to the claims of all parties in interest. The thirty-six 
dollars tendered by Mace was accepted and divided equally 
between Bruce and the Lanes. Mace was assigned a place to 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


41 


work, and it was agreed he should represent Mrs. Long as her 
attorney in fact. 

Snowy-winged Tranquillity spread wide her protecting 
wings, and under their unblemished folds sheltered the Chip- 
munk, while Dame Luck, that indecipherable pre-requisite to 
all successful mining ventures, poured the bedazzling contents 
of earth's virgin wealth into their ore-bins. The week's sales 
netted eight hundred and fifty dollars and forty cents, above 
royalty paid the land-owner and all other expenses. 

“By gum!" said Mace, as he left the office of the Smelter 
Company with Mrs. Long's money, “two hundred and twelve 
dollars and sixty cents — that feels velvety." 

The Monday issue of The Miners' Messmate was hurled 
into Howe's office with the usual “Pape!" accompaniment; 
the following comforting news he perused cursorily, and then 
read aloud : 

“A most extraordinary strike of lead and zinc has been 
lately developed near the north slope of the old Tenderfoot 
Ridge, about three miles east of town, by the Chipmunk 
Mining Company, composed of our well-informed and good- 
natured ‘village blacksmith,' Heck Bruce, two brothers by the 
name of Lane, whose first names our news-gatherer could not 
learn, and also Mrs. Long, widow of Thomas Long, whose 
death was announced in these columns something like a 
month ago. The Chipmunk, if all reports are true, will be a 
star producer. The company cleared over eight hundred 
dollars last week. They are advertising for twenty more good 
miners at the highest wages. See our want ad (second column, 
next page). The Messmate extends to them its unstinted con- 
gratulations on their good strike, and especially to Mrs. Long 
and her children, who, through the skill and efforts of their late 
husband and father, now find themselves the possessors of 
such unforeseen and unexpected benefactions." 


42 


MELVIN MACE; 


CHAPTER VI. 

The Chipmunk during the second week showed more signs 
of success and far more favorable appearances than the first. 
Ole had been agreed upon as superintendent, many good 
miners had been put to work, the ore-buyers had all read The 
Messmate' s comment, and by the middle of the week their ore- 
bins had been the main attraction for the representatives of 
every smelter in the district, as well as capitalists, promoters, 
and financial magnates galore. Mace had been given the place 
known in lead and zinc mining as “culling,’' a position always 
assigned to boys and inexperienced or green hands; a place, 
however, of great importance, and requiring as much work and 
more painstaking than any around a paying mine. When the 
whistle would blow its shrill and high-pitched blast announcing 
noon, and all the miners would come out of the ground and 
open their well-filled dinner-pails, Mace could be seen briskly 
making his way to his tents and wagon, watering and feeding 
his team; then a little current of smoke would slowly ascend 
skyward — sometimes, in cloud-like gossamer, it appeared to 
hang over his habitation as if in benediction. The men paid 
little, if any, attention to him; he was always on time at his 
post, not once was he tardy, and the timekeeper gave him credit 
for six full days in every week. 

There is a knowledge, derived only from actual trial and 
practice, which teaches us to distinguish the good from the bad 
in mankind with that accuracy and exactness approaching in- 
fallibility. Without any intent to laud or eulogize one class of 
humanity over his brother, we are constrained to think that 
knowledge is possessed and enjoyed by men who delve in 
Mother Earth almost in the superlative degree; and it came to 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


43 


pass, as all the men became better acquainted with Mace, their 
unbiased opinions were that he was a man — not only an adult 
human being, but a combined genius and gentleman; enjoying 
uncommon physical strength and mental vigor, linked and 
coupled with a disposition that invited and imparted courtesy, 
sociability, and sympathy, his every look, word, action, and 
gesture were unmistakable symptoms of his unbounded noble- 
ness of soul. If anyone got hurt about the mine, he was in- 
variably the first to him, and by the exercise of his sound judg- 
ment about simple remedies and minor surgery, first aids, etc., 
the mashed hand, the sprained ankle, the bruised face, were on 
the highway to a speedy recovery. Nor was he so clannish as 
to squander all his pity and tenderness on the distressed of 
his own species; dogs, cats, horses, birds, every animality 
shared its due allotment in his good exertions to mitigate 
misery. He often said: '‘It don’t do me as much good to kill 
a quail as it does it harm to die , and that by the excruciating 
torture of a shotgun. I caught a trout once when a small boy, 
on a blued steel hook; the poor creature surged with all its 
strength and with every sinew to remain in its smooth liquid 
home. I tugged it to me, and on the thirsty and unsympathetic 
ground its crimson and clotted blood left an ineffaceable record 
of my guilt. I saw the reflection of my face in the clear stream. 

I said, ‘Melvin, you are a murderer!’ I never fished again.’’ 

By the middle of the week the output of the Chipmunk 
was enormous. The Lane brothers were presumably in a good 
frame of mind; if not, they diligently sought to create that 
impression, for if they harbored any ill will toward Mace, it 
was not the kind that breaks out on slight provocation; how- 
ever, neither of them had spoken to him since his bout with 
Wes. Thursday afternoon it was decided to close down for 
repairs to the machinery, which would require half a day; 
hence all the miners were notified at noon that they would not 


44 


MELVIN MACE; 


be needed until the next morning, but were also told their wages 
would be allowed for the time, the same as if they were at work. 
Instead of going to their homes and boarding-houses, nearly all 
stayed and watched the machinists mend and refit the broken 
machinery. 

The reader had best now be told that in mining camps, 
especially those of quick growth and development, often called 
‘‘booming’^ or ^Toaring,’^ few, if any, of the laboring-men go 
by their right names, and the Chipmunk was no exception to 
the rule. There were '‘Shorty,” “Slim,” “The Duke,” “Ken- 
tucky Kid,” “Croesus,” “Monkey-wrench,” “Colorado Chris,” 
“Squire” McGuire, “Davy Crockett,” “Joe-Joe,” “Pompadour 
Pet,” “Nellie Ely,” and so on were they christened with some 
appellation relative to their looks, habits, size, disposition, or 
nativity. 

“Shorty” weighed two hundred and thirty pounds and 
three pennyweights (so he said) and was five feet and one- 
sixteenth of an inch tall. “Slim” could lick salt off a country 
school-house and not tiptoe. “The Duke” knew more English 
history than Macaulay. ‘'Kentucky Kid” was from the Blue- 
grass State, of course, but would not say what county; they 
often called him a feudist. “Croesus,” as his name implied, 
was very, very well to do; coal, coke, wood, and oil were too 
common for his heating; money was his cheapest fuel. 

“Monkey-wrench” was a cross-eyed grass- widower, about 
thirty years of age. His name had an historical origin. Many 
years before he had been arrested for stealing a monkey-wrench. 
He pleaded not guilty; the jury stood three to three; it was one 
of those criminal prosecutions where none but the officers were 
hurt or had their supersensitive feelings outraged. There are 
many such cases — far too many. The prosecuting attorney, 
either on account of the inferiority of the charges against the 
defendant or the mortification of his pride in the failure to 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


45 


convict “Monkey-wrench,” nollied the case. Blinkins, the 
poor constable, lost his fees; he ran for re-election at the 
earnest solicitation of his friends (his two deputies), but he was 
too lingering and sluggish about it; he got three whole votes, 
as shown by the official count; he became mulish and sullen, 
and was never afterwards in active sympathy with his party, 
and finally became a private detective. 

“Colorado Chris” was a red-faced German with Burnside 
whiskers; they resembled fine-cut tobacco — some good kind ad- 
vertised in cabooses and on coal-houses and covered bridges ; 
he had worked in the West with the United States surveyors 
back in the seventies, and dragged the chain that laid out most 
of Denver, Pueblo, and other cities; his vocal organs were 
well adjusted for long distances. 

“Squire” McGuire was an all-around boarding-house ref- 
eree; his opinions on baseball and other athletic sports were 
weighty and very liable to turn the balance in any reasonable 
mind, and in any game of cards his decisions were final. 

“Davy Crockett,” unlike his renowned prototype only in 
statesmanship, was his ideal model in the destruction of wild 
beasts, and many were the bruins and grizzlies whose shaggy 
pelts he had nailed against the gable of his log cabin in the 
forest, some of which may since “have warmed the backs of 
monarchs.” 

‘Joe-Joe” signed his name across the back of his checks 
“Willis Reed”; the bankers all knew his signature — he had no 
trouble getting money; he wrote two hands — one kind none 
could read but him, the other kind he couldn’t read himself. 

“ Pompadour Pet,” so called from his French topknot and 
his effeminacy, was exceedingly womanish; spent much of his 
spare time washing his face and hands and quite a sum of 
money for pomades, bay rum, and other toilet articles. 

“Nellie Bly,” otherwise known as “Pizen,” and whose 


46 


MELVIN MACE; 


real name was Smith, had been a foot-racer in his boyhood days, 
and from his own account of the places he had seen, and the 
scanty portion of time he had consumed in going from one to 
another, was certainly double-geared about like the prescription 
called for. For example, he once attended a Christmas-tree in 
Portland, Oregon, and on the following New Year’s Day ate a 
delicious turkey dinner with a great-uncle in Worcester County, 
Maryland, and made every inch of it by freight. According to 
his own testimony, he was a hummer till further orders; but his 
gigantic speed lost him no friends, for love — that inestimable 
jewel of the human mind, kindled with beauty and fanned by 
worth — kept up its ancient reputation, and, like charity, its 
twin sister, hid all his other faults. 

The machinists had completed their work and were pre- 
paring to leave, all the miners being still at the works, when 
Mace came from his tented home and with him three little 
chubby-handed girls. Their honest doll-like countenances bore 
convincing evidences of childhood’s spotless qualities. 

“Say, ‘Squire,’ ” said “Pompadour Pet,’’ as he put into 
his vest a small pocket looking-glass, at which he had been 
earnestly gazing in the hope of deciphering some new attraction 
about his face, “what do you think of Mace’s children? ain’t 
they the finest peaches in the basket?’’ 

McGuire, as was his wont, deliberated a season, as if 
weighing every syllable of the question, and then gravely re- 
marked: “I certainly consider them well worthy of notice.’’ 

The decision of “Squire’’ well-nigh settled it. By this 
time the men were all admiring their little visitors, and Mace 
very courteousy had them shake hands with Ole, the “Squire,’’ 
“Croesus,’’ “Joe-Joe,’’ and, in fact, nearly all the miners. It 
so happened that Wes Lane was standing near “Joe-Joe,’’ and 
Mace presented all three of the little beauties to him, whose 
rough and unpolished hand was the reflected semblance of his 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE, 


47 


stony heart. They greeted him with childlike and untainted 
purity, after which Wes — directing his remarks at ''Squire,*' 
Ole, and "Croesus,** who were in a group to themselves, said: 
"By gum! there is the most handsome and attractive bunch 
of little ones in this here camp. It*s a damn stinkin* shame 
that they couldn't have somebody for a daddy." (Thinking 
they were Mace's children.) Mace heard a part of what he 
said, but understood little of his meaning; however, judging 
from his surly looks, he divined that it was something de- 
rogatory to himself, and, quick as a meteoric flash, he ad- 
dressed Wes: "Yes, sir, you scientiflc ring general, these are 
your 'ragamufiins and tramps.* Do they still look it?" 

Wes made no reply, well knowing it was his turn to keep 
still. He knew instantly, from Mace's remarks, that they were 
Tong's orphan children, and whether from his conscious guilt 
for not having attended their father's funeral and assisted the 
distressed family, or from the bitter recollection of his shamefu 
expressions about them in his anger toward Mace at their 
first meeting, it would have been a hard task to correctly 
determine. 

It was many weeks before the laborers learned the cause 
of Wes's sourness of temper and his want of sociability, es- 
specially in the presence of Mace; truth is, they all did not 
know it until after he had sold out his interest in the mine. 
"Davy Crockett" suggested for him the name of "Herod," 
as he wanted to destroy young children, and to this day Wes 
Lane is known only to the old settlers, while every child in the 
community is as familiar with old "Herod" Lane as they are 
with the sounds of the noon whistles. 

The net proceeds from the ore sold that week was something 
over one thousand four hundred and twenty dollars. There 
was ample cause for renewed rejoicing in Mrs. Long's cottage 
that night when the Smelter Company's check for her weekly 


48 


MELVIN MACE; 


dividend was given to her by Mace on his way from town to 
his lonely camp on the common. Quita's pressing invitation 
for him to stay and take supper with them was ineffectual; his 
excuses were many, chief of which was that Whale and Delilah 
were always lonely in his absence; bestowing upon her the 
expression of his gratitude for her kind request. 

Mrs. Long, now able to be up and help the girls about 
their home work, and administering to the many wants of the 
little youngster, was in as good cheer as the circumstances of 
her widowhood would allow. She asked the girls, before re- 
tiring, if they would sing for mamma, and so they sang, their 
baby voices clear as a buglehorn call on tropical seas at twi- 
light, that poetical prophecy, “Little Brown Hands.’^ We 
give the last verse : 

''Those who toil bravely are strongest, 

The humble and poor become great; 

And so, from these brown-handed children 
Shall grow mighty rulers of state. 

The pen of the author and statesman. 

The noble and wise of the land. 

The sword and the chisel and palette. 

Shall be held in the little brown hand.*' 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


49 


CHAPTER VII. 

No less a personage than Mark Antony set the example of 
telling people things that they themselves do know. Sanc- 
tioned and made valid by such illustrious authority, the writer 
feels that the reader will pardon him for presuming to tell 
things with which he may be already well informed; and to 
begin, in general there is no metallic mine but what has its 
thin spots, places where the ore gives out, breaks off, pitches, 
dips, '‘goes blind,'' becomes streaky, and so on. On Wednesday 
of the third week this was the condition of the Chipmunk. 
The greater the effort with pick and shovel, and drill and dyna- 
mite, the thinner grew the ore. Ole's report to Bruce that 
night was, “Ay tank a goo blind on may." Now Bruce had 
spent thousands of dollars prospecting for minerals and grub- 
staking old miners; had become callous to the tales of “Lost 
out," “Hard luck," “Went broke," and the like, to such an 
extent that evil news never appeared to unnerve him. He 
told Ole to drill deeper, put in more powder, and double, if 
possible, his former exertions; but all in vain, for subterranean 
economy has so ordained that where a valuable substance is 
not located, all the work, labor, effort, mineral wizards, and 
sorcery since the dawn of time will not put one grain of mineral 
in the ore-boxes. And so the nuggets in the Chipmunk's 
drifts got smaller and fewer, and finally Ole's prediction came 
true — it “went blind." The last of the week brought the 
owners face to face with an expense account three times larger 
than the net income. Adversity is the dynamo that generates 
character, and an inherent wicked disposition yearns for a series 
of events which oppose success; misfortune is their meat, ca- 
lamity their drink, and affliction is the sluggish slough in which 
they bathe their distresses. 


50 


MELVIN MACE; 


As before intimated, the Lane brothers were an3rthing 
under the arch of high heaven but gentlemen; they were mean, 
base, and contemptible, and this ill luck that had befallen them 
increased their despicableness ten-fold; owning as they did one- 
half of the mine, it is no difficult task to readily understand 
how their ill will would imperil prosperous results. Early in 
the beginning of the fourth week it became obvious that no 
procedure on the part of Ole would meet their approval; so 
opposed were they to his management that they would will- 
ingly have given away half of their holdings to displace him. 
The regular order of affairs at the Chipmunk took the three 
ancient degrees — namely, bad, worse, worst. It is known to 
weather prophets — and almost everyone else — that when a 
river gets so low it can’t run, it is soon going to rise; and when 
business affairs get to their worst, a change for the better may 
be looked for. All signs indicated that financial disaster was 
unlimbering and leveling her big guns on the Chipmunk. The 
Lanes wouldn’t work or agree to pay any part of the current 
expenses; they wouldn’t “drive the snipe or hold the sack,” 
as they put it. A wrangle ensued, as always will where there 
are too many bosses. “A regiment of officers and no privates,” 
said Bruce when told of the conditions. Mace took no part 
in their bickering, but began to suspect they wanted to buy 
the interest of Bruce and Mrs. Long. His suspicions were 
well grounded, for they talked nothing but sell, sell; claimed 
they had procured a buyer who would look at nothing but their 
past record, also asserting that the best mine on this green 
globe is a deep hole in the earth with water at the bottom of it 
and a big liar at the top. 

Mace had previously told Bruce his idea of what their con- 
duct indicated to him. So at the meeting of the owners to de- 
vise ways and means to prosecute the venture further he and 
Bruce knew what to expect, and by his skill and dexterity in 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


51 


such negotiations had led the Lanes to believe almost any cash 
offer would be accepted by Mrs. Long and the blacksmith. 
At length, after refusing many propositions, the Lanes agreed 
to set a price on the entire mine, and to let the other side give 
or take, never reckoning but that they were the market for the 
property; they fixed the price at eight hundred dollars for it, 
and their half was taken by Mace, the four hundred dollars 
was paid them cash down, and they were out of the Chipmunk 
and out of these pages for good. 

Indulgent reader, the following may be something with 
which you are very familiar, and if so, we trust the pardon 
previously prayed for will still be in force in our behalf. 

To begin, metallic substances in Mother Earth are seldom, 
if ever, found in stratified formations, but instead are found in 
abrupt and irregular shapes — in lodes, rings, circles, fissures, 
and the like; especially is this true .with lead and zinc ores. 
Sometimes these metallic veins assume the form and shape of 
ugly and deformed objects, and such was the Chipmunk, which 
might be said to closely resemble a great spider; and the 
month’s labor had been occupied upon one of its massive limbs 
— beginning about midway between the hip and the knee, they 
had amputated and exhumed this member down to and in- 
cluding its very toes. After the purchase of the Lanes’ in- 
terests, the next step taken was to reorganize the company, 
which they accordingly did, Mace being chosen president and 
Ole retained as superintendent. Mace told Bruce the half 
interest he had bought was owned jointly by himself and Mrs. 
Long, making her the owner of one-half of the property. Work 
was resumed the next day; not, however, until all former plans 
and measures had been entirely reversed. 

'‘Where you lose money is a good place to go to hunt for 
it, if you want to find it,” observed Mace; “we’ll cut directly 
opposite the way we were going when she went blind.” Ole 


52 


MELVIN MACE; 


concurred, so the ground men were instructed to about face- 
A few violent explosions of powder in the drift made the Chip- 
munk glitter like a tinner’s shop, and, pantomime-like, re- 
flected the miners’ lamp lights as the new discovery reflected 
joy, comfort, and blissfulness from the faces of its owners. 
Two weeks passed while the whole force was hoisting the re- 
maining portion of the spider’s leg, which brought in round 
numbers three thousand dollars, and then the long-wished-for 
but unexpected suddenly happened; the main body of this 
huge web-spinner who so feelingly ‘'invites silly little flies to 
walk into his parlor” was now having its anatomy dissected 
by surgeons unknown to his spidership. 

The Chipmunk now became much talked about and 
praised; its fame was unconfined; metropolitan dailies gave it 
valuable space, and scores and scores were the mentions it re- 
ceived by the local press. The Pick and Shovel y a religio- 
political paper, edited by an old maid from somewhere (a long 
way off), and who was supposed to have previously repulsed 
several matrimonial bayonet charges, ended one of its extolling 
comments regarding the Chipmunk and its owners thus : 

‘‘And our modest Mr. Bruce, transformed as by the wave 
of a magician’s wand from a blacksmith to a capitalist, is the 
last one on earth to show any evidences of the change, either 
by dress or actions ; his one and two thousand dollars per week 
income has no more effect on him than his former earnings at 
the fire and forge. Melvin Mace, an equal owner, is a most 
original and unique character. The Pick and Shovel reporter 
found him at his tents and wagon yesterday afternoon (Wednes- 
day), and although a stranger in this mining district, it is re- 
markable how many people he knows, and how familiar he is 
with mining in general and with the Chipmunk in particular. 
The company now employs more than one hundred men, 
working day and night. He told our representative that his 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


53 


company only had one rule, which is: Hire only men who 
look one straight in the face with both eyes — ‘give 'em both 
barrels,' as he puts it. Long may the Chipmunk thrive!" 

So was the excellence of the mine heralded throughout the 
country, with little or no abatement; buyers, brokers, and ex- 
pert mineralogists were struck with wonder and astonishment 
at its enormous productions. 

Saturday night, as Mace cleared away his supper dishes, 
which consisted of as few things as indispensableness would 
tolerate, someone tapped on his tent front and asked admit- 
tance ; it was Howe, and his first meeting with Mace since the 
cloudy Monday when they visited the bereaved Mrs. Long and 
her little ones. 

"Don’t ask if you can come in this place," replied Mace 
as he held his lantern so as to discern whom he addressed; 
"come in; everything that breathes can always find welcome 
at the place where I reside." 

"Except rattlesnakes," said Howe. 

"No, not excepting rattlesnakes; for I let one of those 
fellows stay all night with me last week, and if he had gone 
early the next morning, he would perhaps have been doing 
well yet, but he insisted on putting in overtime, so I court- 
martialed him." 

"Did execution follow sentence?" 

"Well, hardly. I executed him first and read the death- 
warrant to his remains; like most other felons, he understood 
it about as well then as he would have before. But say, Howe, 
where does your log-book show you 've been sailing?" 

"I was sailing without bearings; my needle dipped here, 
so I hove to, seeing this luniform object — yoiu: lantern — and 
made landing in this port. I've heard that you've been 
having some smooth sailing yourself since our cloudy drive." 

"Well, I have, Howe, but, like all other good luck, veins 


54 


MELVIN MACE; 


and pockets, there is no telling the evil moment it will quit me. 
I Ve been over the earth quite a bit, and had my fingers almost 
fastened to a fortune more than once, and in some mysterious 
manner it has always escaped. I often think I was not mod- 
eled for any purpose but to make money for others. I organ- 
ized a mining company once in the Northwest; we struck good 
paying copper in less than a month after the concern was 
fairly on a paying basis. My associates — some of whom I had 
kept from starvation during the previous winter — entered into 
a conspiracy to defraud me out of my interest, and, by all 
kinds of deceitful practices, they succeeded. I whipped four 
or five of them and shot one, but he soon recovered; the old 
doctrine about the survival of the fittest applies to all things in 
nature but the human family — that rule exerts little, if any, 
power or strength over men and women. Here I am talking 
my history to you, and I know you don't want to listen to one 
word of it; you came to hear about the Chipmunk.” 

‘‘I came to hear yoUy' replied Howe, “on the themes of 
your own choosing, but personal history is infinitely interesting 
to me.” 

“And to me too — sometimes. I've seen the time when I 
was compelled to hear some old ‘has been' fossil rehearse his 
past life — relating events that never occurred, magnifying ten 
diameters those that did, until I'm pretty plentifully disgusted 
with the whole seed, breed, and generation of such blow-hards. 
And these old gratis advice-givers, on the stern of the same 
leaky boat, they can see all things in front and remember 
everything behind; they copyrighted ‘I told you so' before 
other people learned to talk or even make signs, and are giving 
good advice when they themselves are too old to set a bad 
example; I tell you, I've got a sufficiency of them also. Nine- 
tenths of these old ducks spent the time and prime of their youth 
as the boys of to-day; probably they were a trifle short on beer 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


55 


and flavored chewing tobacco, but sweethearts were abroad in 
the land then the same as now and as they will be in the hi- 
larious henceforward.” 

'‘Howe, I'm dang glad you came out to-night. It's rain- 
ing, and you must remain until morning.” 

“Impossible, Mace; you must excuse me this time. I'll 
be off soon.” 

“Nothing is impossible. Stay right here; I 'll initiate you 
into camp life — nothing is healthier. If all sickly folks would 
camp out in summer, the doctors would in winter, or go at 
something else for a livelihood. No one ever heard of a 
sick Gipsy.” 

“I believe that,” said Howe. 

“I know it,” Mace continued, “from my own experience. 
I had a long spell of sickness once in Wisconsin; my doctor 
found I had money, and he had me take everything in a drug 
store but putty and paint and he would have prscribed them 
if my money had held out. Finally a boy told me about a 
wagon-trip that cured him, so I started for one myself. I was 
out six weeks, and came back a sound man.” 

“What was the matter with you?” 

“ I was in the third stage of every disease known to medical 
literature, from corns to consumption — so the doctor said.” 

“You were ill, weren't you?” 

“I was somewhat under the weather, by gum! and his 
cheek was the capsheaf of the whole farce. Why, he had the 
nerve to tell me his last bottle of medicine (which I hurled 
through a hedge fence) had brought me right out — I guess he 
meant out of money. I'll tell you, Howe, there's competition 
in rascality, and these gold-brick fellows don't want to land on 
you but once. Here I go again censuring others, criticising 
their faults, and getting caught in my own trap. Howe, do 
you smoke?” 


56 


MELVIN MACE; 


“Yes, sir, I smoke, chew, and dip snuff occasionally; I Ve 
a standing reward to anyone who will discover a new use for 
the nasty plant. Here is a plug; do you want a chew?*’ 

“No, thanks; I have tobacco, I’m never out. What do 
you chew for, Howe? just to get the juice out of it?” 

“Yes, sir, that is the secondary reason; the first is, because 
my parents punished me for chewing when I was small.” 

“Mine did me the same,” said Mace; “that was the first 
verse in the long chapter of my boyhood’s distresses. My 
father gave me an unmerciful whipping for chewing tobacco. 
He was himself an inveterate chewer and so were both of my 
grandfathers. I never passed one hour awake that I was not 
seeing someone chew tobacco; these examples, strengthened 
by hereditary force, made the habit a part of my little nature, 
almost as inseparable as life itself. I contended I had as much 
right to use it as I had to use my right hand in preference to my 
left; I had the desire for it that a duck has for water — an in- 
tense anxiety for something I had no more control over than 
I had over the price of cab-rides in Jerusalem.” 

“Exactly; you were two boys instead of one,” Howe re- 
marked; “and that is the rock that wrecks many a cargo of 
parental influence — the punishment of things that are not 
crimes.” 

“It wrecked his influence with me for a certainty — then, 
now, and always, or any other man with a jowl full of tobacco 
who makes a whipping-post out of a tender and nervous little 
boy for munching something that his taste calls for and that 
nothing else under the canopy of heaven will gratify. And 
that leads me to think of another superannuated doctrine of 
Solomon — ‘ Spare the rod and spoil the child.’ A man who had 
three hundred wives and seven hundred lady friends can’t tell 
me anything about children. That rule must have been en- 
acted by a congress of grave-robbers. It’s akin to another 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


57 


opinion — “And unto him that smiteth thee on the one cheek, 
offer unto him also the other cheek.' If I were allowed to 
revise these dogmas, the first one would sound about like this : 
‘Spare the rod and save the child.' And the next: ‘And unto 
her that kisseth you on the one cheek, offer her the other with 
your whole face, then spar for wind just a little, and pay them 
back with an exorbitant interest till the sound of the gong; 
be your own referee and time-keeper, and make the rounds 
forty minutes, provided she has never been punished when a 
child for holding her breath.' I would like to see the right hand 
of every sane person that's in favor of these amendments. 
What a contrast they would be to the old cruel claws and paws 
that would make the contrary sign. Yes, sir; yes, s-i-r; being 
as personal history is so interesting to you, just help yourself 
to this box of fine-cut and these cigars. It's raining too hard, 
or I 'd go after a box of snuff, and I 'll tell you about it. It may 
be tiresome; if so, let me hear from you, and I'll change your 
brands of tobacco." 

“Have no fear from that source," rejoined Howe; “our 
lives have been so much alike, the recounting of yours is doubly 
interesting to me. If you have time, proceed; I'm a glutton 
for listening." 

“Time! I've got all there is, and besides, I'm like a hen 
sitting on a nest of white door-knobs — my time is not valuable 
to-night. 

“Well, I don't think I have ever told you, but I will now, 
that I was born on a farm in the southern part of the State of 
Maine and lived there until I was nearly seventeen years old; 
the paths I traveled then were well filled with pitfalls, quag- 
mires, and sharp rocks. My first sad misfortune — or, rather, a 
series of cross-accidents that befell me — was that I had four 
brothers older than myself, two of whom were very religious 
and, as matter of course, exercised far more influence over our 


58 


MELVIN MACE; 


parents than the remainder of the children, as well as relatives, 
friends, and neighbors. Self-preservation taught me to love 
these brothers — like a rabbit loves a pair of greyhounds. I 
made little effort to conceal my affection. Time was tedious 
to me then. The favorite sons were sent away to boarding- 
school, and whether from want of ability or application I never 
knew, but they never learned as much as I did in ‘District 
Number Three’; to be sure, it pained their pride and self- 
esteem during vacation for me to spell words they’d miss, 
work out sums they’d failed on, correct their mistakes and im- 
proper language — in fact, prove to all but themselves that they 
were blockheads. My superiority over them augmented their 
deep-seated prejudices; they easily persuaded my father that 
I didn’t need much of an education; hence ‘District Number 
Three’ is my alma mater; so, you see, I never left college or 
seminary, but they left me. Howe, this regales me, it does, 
by gum ! and before I make it snow here in August, I want to tell 
you about that tobacco trouble. 

“Among the people who lived near us was one La Rue 
Van Camp, and by nature, education, desire, and habits he 
outranked any ordinary villain I’ve ever encountered. He 
had the eye of a skunk, the mouth of a frog, and a moral ten- 
dency as low down as a snake’s abdomen. Such was old Van 
Camp. I say ‘old’; he wasn’t old to hurt — perhaps forty-five, 
but was much older than honest; his devotional habit gave him 
boundless influence with my father, so much so that he bor- 
rowed our tools, horses, harness, wagons — in fact, anything 
that he wanted; and if his crop became weedy or foul, father 
would have us boys (any but the select two I told you about) 
go over and do his work. Once he pretended he had rheum- 
atism ; I was detailed to work out his field, and it was no lit- 
tle job, as the weather was very warm and his crop was choked 
with weeds well-nigh out of the ground. I never see the sign 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


59 


in the parks, ' Kehp off The Grass, * but that I think of old 
Van Camp’s field. Some local joker had posted that ‘Keep 
off’ command just inside the dilapidated old gate through 
which I had to pass. I had ample cause later on to regret not 
having obeyed the order. Beaver-like, I toiled day after day 
until his field was in good order. The last day I worked, old 
Van Camp came out about the middle of the afternoon. I was 
chewing tobacco hard and working harder. He spied me spit, 
and that old, contemptible, shameless, sheep-killing cur had 
the impudence to tell me he intended telling my father about 
my tobacco habit, and what ’s worse and more of it, he did tell 
him, and my little back paid the penalty, not for the violation 
of any law, rule, or duty — I was a victim of treachery and 
ingratitude. 

“Let me tell you, Howe, and I’m going to call in a good 
dead man for a witness to help me — General Sam Houston. 
He once said that ingratitude was the blackest and basest sin 
above hell. Now, I don’t believe there is any hell, and I 
haven’t seen anybody (except a very few colored ministers of 
late) that does believe in it, but I do believe with all the zeal 
and fervency my soul can summon that ingratitude is playing 
up pretty close to the limit of the unpardonables; nothing in 
the whole list of human transgressions approaches it; it is the 
mother of murder, the father of falsehood, the brother of bru- 
tality, the sister of shame, the daughter of disgrace, and the 
spawn of shattered character. 

“Well, I got the trouncing and old Van Camp got his crop 
cleaned out, ready for the next rain; and he got more, too: I 
made an entry on the red side of my ledger against him. I 
was little past twelve years old then and small for that age; 
the next spring I merged into ‘teens,’ the most important part 
of my life. The earth’s crust gradually got cooler and smoother 
to me, except Sundays and sleepless nights ; Time mended his 


60 


MELVIN MACE; 


movement somwehat — made longer jumps and more of them. 
I seldom had a new garment, but instead was compelled to wear 
the cast-away clothing of the favored brothers. Money and 
I were total strangers. I was afraid to own a dollar for fear 
of being arrested for counterfeiting. Two or three months 
during the coldest part of the long winters I attended the dis- 
trict school; seed-time and harvest came and went; I had little 
rest, less recreation, and no real comforts. The only pleas- 
urable sensations I ever enjoyed were derived from the hope 
that some bright day or dark night I would balance old Van 
Camp’s account, which was well secured and bearing compound 
interest. 

“The summer after I was sixteen years old in May I grew 
like a rebellion in Mexico. Between the frosts of that year 
my avoirdupois, went from no to 155 pounds, and every 
ounce was muscle. My beard grew as heavy then as now, and 
much redder. Autumn came, and with it the rustic festivities 
common to country people, none of which I was permitted to 
attend on account of scanty wardrobe. At last my father’s 
good qualities appeared to gain a temporary advantage over his 
habitual negligence of me. He abandoned his wonted record, 
went to the village, and bought me a fairly decent suit of 
clothes. They were as unexpected as my Chipmunk dividends 
have been, but their arrival was timely, for I didn’t own 
tatters enough to shoo the flies out of a sugar-barrel ; my wish 
for the possession of good clothes for my person had been so 
long deadened that, like a drowning person, I little thanked my 
rescuer. After a few days, I brought together courage enough 
to put on the 'store clothes.’ A neighbor boy came by our 
house and told me there was to be a spelling-bee at a school- 
house some five miles distant, a prize to be given to the best 
speller. Knowing that I was ‘long’ on spelling, he urged me 
to go. I dressed in the new clothes that were so much too large 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


61 


that I felt lonesome in them, and reached the little school-house 
in time to be chosen one of the spellers. The young man who 
gave out the words once taught in my neighborhood. I at- 
tended his school for a few weeks, but had now grown out of 
his memory; when told my name, however, he recollected me. 
We all stood while spelling, and when one had the bad luck to 
utter the wrong letters composing a word, it was followed by 
the good luck of getting a seat. In less than an hour they were 
all ^spelled down^but two — myself and a little crippled girl, 
perhaps fourteen years of age, who used a crutch in walking. 
We spelled alternately for ten or fifteen minutes; she finally 
missed the word ‘pusillanimous,’ spelling the second syllable 
‘cir instead of ‘sil.’ I thought of old Van Camp instantly. 
There was no way on earth for me to miss that word. I had 
studied it day and night for four years. Many came to con- 
gratulate me, and the young teacher offered me the book, the 
prize, but I declined to accept it, and had them give it to the 
little crippled girl. It was a neatly bound copy of ‘-®sop’s 
Fables.’ The sting of her disappointment was as effectually 
neutralized by the little volume as though she had been the 
victor in the contest. Her features brightened up, she thanked 
me politely for the gift, and had me write my name on one of 
the fly-leaves. I hurried home through the cold, thinking that 
my first appearance in public had at least gladdened one heart. 

“That was a memorable night. The next spelling-bee 1 
attended was the last one; it was at our own neighborhood 
school-house, about a week afterwards; then came the red 
lights, soft music, and the ring-down of the curtain on my 
mistreated boyhood. 

“I was chosen, as before, to take part in the spelling, and 
it so happened that all contestants went down before the shot 
and shell of difficult orthography but myself and a daughter 
of old Van Camp. We amused the audience for some time; 


62 


MELVIN MACE; 


by and by she put three in ^retribution^ ; the teacher passed it ; 
I said, ‘One t at the end of the first syllable is enough.* ‘Cor- 
rect,* said he, and declared me the winner. 

Quite a number of the grown-up folks were there — old 
Van Camp among them. The meeting adjourned, and all 
started their several ways homeward. As I passed over the 
steps at the front fence old Van Camp said to me in a scornful 
manner, ‘You think you are smart, so you do, but I think you 

are a * He started on another word, but if he ever got it 

all uttered, it must have been three weeks or a month later, 
for I did land on him like a trip-hammer; all my dogs of war I 
let slip at one time, and with the fuse of his own lightning dis- 
charged the bombs of my pent-up wrath. His every act was a 
flagrant violation of my Monroe Doctrine. A fight was the 
only way left for me; it was a thousand times easier than to 
brook his insult, and was the course of least resistance; it was 
The road I long had sought, 

And mourned because I found it not.* 

Oh, how I did pump the stiff ones on him — ‘hip and thighs, 
mouth, nose, and eyes * I I * ve never seen an ‘ after-taking * face 
in patent medicine literature that in any way resembled his. 
A number of persons tried to pull me away from him, but they 
lacked strength. Someone kicked me on the shoulder; the 
blow shocked me some, and, unfortunately for old Van Camp, 
I swallowed a scruple of tobacco. The road to a man*s heart 
is through his stomach, and the main-line trains bound for 
memory start on the same track, through that membraneous 
organ of digestion ; for the very instant that nicotine fluid left 
my tongue all the physical and mental pangs I sustained four 
years previous through his treachery took forcible possession 
of my brain and crowded out every thought and contemplation 
but revenge. My desire went much farther than the pun- 
ishment of his offense. I owed society a debt — not money or 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


63 


goods, but service. I was now a man in everything but age; 
that I didn't need. I wanted to leave a mark of ‘ retribution ' 
that would prevent other 'pusillanimous' scorpions like him 
from stinging innocent children. The kick from the unknown 
coward forced me on my side, my face near the left side of his 
head. I jerked him to me, his left ear touched my face. I 
opened my mouth wide, all his ear except the lower lobe went 
in, up went my under jaw, off went the cartilaginous funnel 
of his sound-receiver, and old Van Camp was branded with a 
letter found in the alphabet of all languages. 

"Howe, you seem to stand for this talk so well that I’ll let 
the jug run empty while the cork was out," said Mace as Howe 
recruited a cud of "fine cut." 

" I had read or dreamed that if one does a little and does it 
well, then he has done a great deal. Satisfied with my spelling 
and sparring, I returned home — or, rather, to my father's house 
— all places of constant residence are not homes. None of the 
family had retired. My mother discovered my gory condition, 
and said my nose had been bleeding. I told her I doubted it. 
The rest of them observed my plight; I was deluged with ques- 
tions, my father acting as leading counselor for the prosecution. 
I told him I had broken the portico above Van Camp's chop- 
house, and although not a doctor of dental surgery, I had ex- 
tracted several pieces of furniture from his dining-room abso- 
lutely without pain — to me; as to him, I didn't know whether 
the operation hurt or not — I didn't inquire. My answers were 
not satisfactory, and some hot words passed between us; I 
hurried up the little stairs, took off the new suit of clothes, put 
on the best I could collect out of my every-day wearing apparel, 
and rushed down again. 

"The Mace family began to treat as a reality the fact that 
they were now about to lose by emigration a very capable and 
diligent common laborer. Impulsively did they seek to stay 


64 


MELVIN MACE; 


my steps; my father asserted with assurance that I would re- 
turn within twenty-four hours — it has been much over twenty- 
four years and his prophecy is still unfulfilled; empty, light, and 
fruitless were their arguments, implorations and promises came 
to late. I took the bridle-bit of destiny between the same 
teeth that had lopped off old Van Camp’s ear, and, with a 
determination conceived in vigilance and born in victory, 
without a kiss, good-bye, or even telling them to go to a warmer 
climate, braved the darkness of as cold a night as New England’s 
November can produce. 

‘‘The walk from the door to the gate was steep, perhaps 
an elevation of twenty degrees ; this gang-plank, beginning the 
voyage of my manhood’s career, was the hardest pull I ’ve had. 
But once through the yard gate, the road leveled up, and ever 
since life’s burdens have grown immensely lighter. 

“The history of that night’s events occupies the strong- 
hold of my memory. Few fledglings ever left the parental nest 
exercising dominion over as scanty a supply of valuable things. 
One more disheartened than I could have sung with the old 
colored mammy of the South : 

‘The foxes have dens, and the birds have nests; 

Poor sinner has no hiding-place.’ 

But I knew I wasn’t a fox or a bird, and I didn’t consider 
myself much of a sinner; therefore I wasn’t looking for a 
hiding-place. The loveliest thing in that country to me was 
the road out of it ; all I wanted with that part of this ‘ terrestrial 
ball ’ was to shake as much of it as possible off my ill-shod feet. 

“By good daylight I had traveled upwards of twenty 
miles; the road got better all the while; walking didn’t occupy 
all my mental activity, so I began to reckon an estimate in 
my own way — the respective amounts of bitter and sweet, 
profit and loss of human life; I knew then, as I do now, it was 
a stupendous proposition, but I tackled it nevertheless. I had 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


65 


about completed my calculation and added together the several 
sums and products of my computations; it showed the sweets 
and profits somewhat in the minority; I reviewed the work, 
hoping to find some mistake ; finding none, I concluded to post- 
pone my accounting till conditions would produce a different 
result. It was perhaps half past nine o’clock — 'quartering 
time,’ as we say in a mining country. I was thirsty, very 
thirsty, and stopped at a farm-house. As I walked from the 
gate to the door I saw through the large front windows a 
glowing fire, costly furniture, and a number of well-dressed 
boys and girls, some of whom were almost grown. I knocked 
on the door; a middle-aged man came, opened the door, and 
asked me what was wanted. He looked at me hard with both 
eyes. I asked him if he’d give me a drink of water. 

" ‘No, sir,’ came his reply in double-quick time. ‘You 
are the third tatterdemalion and beggar we ’ ve had this morning. 
I work and support my family; other men must do likewise; 
I ’ve nothing to give away — no, nothing.’ His words were loud 
and high-pitched. 

“‘Mister,’ said I, ‘you have my sincere sympathy. 
Scientists, ’I continued, ‘contend that there is no uniformity in 
nature; that no two things can be found precisely alike; your 
condition and mine convince me beyond doubt that they are in 
error. I myself have absolutely nothing to give away; our 
conditions are precisely sitnilar.’ 

“My comparison caught him; his voice softened as he 
stepped out on the porch; I asked him to pardon my intrusion 
and turned to walk away. He told me to remain, adding that 
he would get the water at once, but I thanked him for the 
belated offer, and I told him I would not put him to the trouble, 
that I’d trudge along and drink at the next brook if it was not 
frozen over, as all I’d crossed had been. He followed me to 
the gate, persuading me all the while to remain and let him 


66 


MELVIN MACE; 


give me the water; he begged me so earnestly that, once out 
in the road, I let him engage me in conversation. I remember 
well how he laid his hand on my shoulder; among other things, 
he said I was well built. 

“I remarked to him: ‘Yes, sir, you were right about not 
having anything to give away, but only half right in your 
other sweeping declaration about my being a tatterdemalion 
and beggar. I am a ragged fellow, but, my friend, you are the 
beggar, so you are, for you have asked and even pleaded with 
me a score of times to drink water, haven't you? Now you 
are the beggar, aren't you?' 

“He made no reply to that, but looked dejected. I con- 
tinued: ‘Stranger, you work and support your family; that's 
laudable. Many men are good to all people but their families; 
that's damnable.' 

“ ‘You talk more like an experienced man than the youth 
you be,' he said. 

“I told him I had far more experience than most boys of 
sixteen years of age, and that I stood in greater need of water 
at that juncture than experience. This refreshed his memory 
of my request for a draught of that liquid, the most abundant 
and necessary in nature, and caused him to renew his solicita- 
tions for me to return and partake of water and food; I de- 
clined both, and resumed my journey; he besought me to take 
his hand in friendship, and hold no ill will toward him on ac- 
count of his treatment, adding that he had a brother twenty 
years younger than himself somewhere in the wide world; it 
had been two years since he had heard from him; that his last 
letter contained an account of the scarcity of water in the 
northern part of Mexico (where he was then traveling), and 
that often a small drink was denied him. 

“I took his hand and looked him straight in the eyes; 
they were filled with tears. I told him there was no necessity 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


67 


for any conflict between us; he had a right to be inhospitable 
to strangers, and that I would forgive him and hold no grudge; 
that I would not treasure up in my memory the recollection 
of his treatment for future use, and should I ever meet his 
brother (which was not impossible) or anyone’s brother suf- 
fering with thirst, I’d give unto him or unto them water or 
any other necessity, if within my ability to do so. 

I had gone perhaps forty rods before looking back; when 
I did, he was sitting on a stone beside the road, his head down, 
as if in deepest meditation. He must have been a good man, 
for he shed tears. I tell you, Howe, bad men don’t weep 
much; tears are the true index of a noble heart. Sobs rarely 
convulse the bosoms of evil men. I’ll bet more on a crying 
train-robber than on a dry-eyed parson. 

know you are sleepy; here is a folding cot and a pair 
of blankets; I don’t keep linen sheets ; wool is Nature’s raiment, 
it grows from flesh and blood; cotton, linen, and such stuffs 
are the products of the marsh, bog, and slime. Roll up in the 
blankets, and get your head on a level with your feet; never 
sleep with your head and shoulders higher than your body and 
lower limbs — it puts too much work on your heart. Good 
night, old boy; don’t dream if you can help it. We do enough 
of that while we are awake.” 


68 


MELVIN MACE; 


CHAPTER VIII. 

Mace was up two hours before Howe set sail to return from 
his moorage in the placid bay of dreamland, had fed his horses, 
shaved himself, put on clean clothing, and partially prepared a 
morning meal. By accident, he let fall the lid of his grub-box; 
the noise terminated Howe's nap. Bewildered by his sur- 
roundings at first, a second reflection cleared away all per- 
plexity. Mace told him to prepare his toilet and give his 
order for breakfast; he didn't wait for another invitation. 
The tent accommodations excelled any boarding-house so 
completely that he didn't want to miss or overlook one jot of it. 

After a good face and hands bath, and he was comfortably 
seated on one of the camp-stools, Mace said to him: ‘‘Howe, 
have you a watch?" 

“ Yes, sir. Why do you ask me? " said he. 

‘‘For several reasons," rejoined Mace; ‘‘one is, I want 
you to time me, and another, I don't want you to be governed 
by my timepiece; you might think mine was jockeying. And 
still another reason, I want to show you that I can get a good 
breakfast in five minutes; of course, this means cooking and 
placing on the table ready for the knife, fork, spoon, and teeth. 
Mind you, my gasoline stove is already burning (two burn- 
ers) and our coffee is made. What time is it now by your 
Waterbury?" 

‘‘Four minutes past seven," said Howe. 

‘‘Good!" Mace cried out, and began at once the work, 
telling at the same time each and everything he was doing. 

‘‘These five slices of ham in this frying-pan merely covered 
with water till it boils. Eight pieces of bread buttered and 
on the hot griddle. Here we go, exactly; the water is boiling, 
I 'll pour it out, then fry the ham. As the ham is getting hot 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


69 


on one side I'll turn over the bread; yes — over it goes. Now 
for my fresh eggs, six — ^here they are; I'll break them in this 
bowl. All good — that's the way I like them; the whites stand 
up fine — eggs are addled if the whites fiatten out much. Turn 
the ham over. Oh, my! that smells delicious; had I been a 
Jew in the wilderness, I'd certainly made manna-ham sand- 
wiches, hog or no hog; yes, by gum! You will not scorch. Miss 
Toast, for you are done, taken up, and on the cake-plate. All 
right, little sugar-cured ham, you are cooked, and these eggs, 
disrobed of their white shells, will now plunge into the greasy 
incubator, rolling over, but failing to hatch. Gravy? Well, 
I should say so! I'll take up the eggs, let the pan get good 
and hot, pour in a half-pint of water with a spoonful of con- 
densed milk, add this tablespoonful of fiour, stir well, and poiu: 
all out into this little old-fashioned yellow bowl. Open this 
can of California peaches and this glass of honey for the hot' 
toast; all on the table, with two cups of hot coffee. Time?', 
said Mace, motioning for Howe to move his toojs to the table 

‘‘Four minutes and twenty -five seconds," said Howe. 

“Right you are. I'm always four minutes slow on 
Simday; ordinarily I'd box up a meal like this in the twenty- 
five seconds. Now then, let's see if we can eat it. Take the 
peaches first; fruit for breakfast always — it is gold in the 
morning, silver at noon, and lead at night. But hold! I'm 
too fast again; maybe you want to say something before 
eating — some people do. I wouldn't have you violate any 
obligation of your boyhood's faith while you 're my guest. All 
I ask is for others not to crowd me out of the warm place of 
my own belief; they can have all the heaven they want as 
long as they don't give me hell." 

Howe told him that while he still cherished the hope his 
parents taught him, he was like deaf Dan Brown when kicked 
by a tricky mule at the circus — he had nothing to say. 


70 


MELVIN MACE; 


‘‘Well,’' continued Mace, “I roughed it a part of one 
winter with old Ben Burton, as he was called, out in the North- 
west. One morning old Ben asked a blessing that struck me 
as coming well up to the standard. The day before he and his 
two dogs fought a thirteen-round draw with a grizzly; one of 
the dogs and old Ben were all the survivors of the invading 
army. The other dog, his gun, ammunition, hunting accouter- 
ments, and most of old Ben’s clothes were left on the field. I 
worked on him nearly all night with court plaster, stitches, and 
splints; next morning I cooked him some venison, bread, and 
coffee, and helped him to the board. He looked damaged. 
I’ll never forget his looks and language. Rolling back his 
eyes and raising one hand, he said: 

*Good Lord of love, look from above, 

And pity our condition. 

And please send down another hound. 

With gun and ammunition/ 

“Howe, don’t let me talk you out of your breakfast; light 
in on this, hammer and tongs — ^it will do you till you get home, 
where you can get something better.” 

Howe hadn’t been as hungry since he was weaned. Like 
all lawyers, he needed very little encouragement to claim what 
was coming; the way he did eat was a sight. After three 
whole and four half -cups of coffee had trickled over his tongue, 
he requested Mace to look at an almanac and see when he 
would be full, adding that he was by the table as by the “mourn- 
ers’ bench” — always stayed till he felt a change. 

“Mace, tell me,” Howe inquired, as he sipped the remains 
of the aromatic Java from the lees of the last half-cup, “was 
old Ben’s prayer answered?” 

“Well, I can’t say as to that; at any rate, the supplies he 
sought were soon forthcoming. That afternoon the missing 
hound wabbled in, looking like he’d gone through a steam 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


71 


crusher; a benevolent neighbor about five miles up the gulch 
gave him a new repeating rifle, and I bought him five dollars' 
worth of cartridges ; something like a week afterwards someone 
found his hunting-knife. It began to look like old Ben's sup- 
plicating telegram had ticked off the far end of a through wire. 
He called his battle with the bear a thirteen-round fight for 
the day in December it occurred. Like many others, he re- 
garded that number as quite unlucky, and I 'm free to confess 
that I share the same belief; I 'd set up four whole nights before 
I'd doze three seconds in a room numbered thirteen of any- 
body's tavern. This may sound silly to you, but if you ever 
owe me thirteen dollars, twelve will pay the debt, and I 'll give 
you a receipt for all time to come and three days of grace 
thrown in. 

“Ben was an uncommon character. He's got the best 
suite of rooms in the mansion of my memory. I've never 
taken the crape off their front door, and seldom show anyone 
through them, but never a day goes by that I don't go in and 
dig up some of his witty or pathetic expressions. He used to 
say that he was born in eastern Kentucky when he was small 
and owned 'most all the western part of the State before he 
left there; but, like many other lovesick furrow-walkers, mort- 
gages and marriage licenses had fouled him, and that this 
world, so far as he'd seen, possessed very few attractions cal- 
culated to make a man right ‘shouting happy’ for any great 
length of time ; said he could see in the dark of the moon where 
Davy Crockett was right in quitting Congress and going back 
to bear-hunting — anybody’s got a right to reform. Our so- 
called civilization had soured in old Ben's digestive track, and, 
like a puling infant, he'd spewed it up. Many years before 
he'd married; but the one he solemnly promised ‘to love and 
none other' hadn’t an idea, thought, feeling, or sentiment in 
common with him. She regarded wifehood as a trick, a scheme 


72 


MELVIN MACE; 


of false pretenses. Old Ben knew nothing but common hon- 
esty, and looked upon marriage as a field of well-watered 
clover. Both lost out; they Ve got company, other necks are 
in the same noose. His married life was the same old shelf- 
worn tale; it's been told time out of mind, and is the main 
story-post in the edifice of the pessimist — perfidy, bad faith. 
Some slick-tongued machine agent had created the impression 
on her that old Ben was too coarse and uncouth, that he didn 't 
shave often enough, needed high-priced perfumery to coun- 
teract the odor of his perspiration, and other things equally as 
unimportant. Open and bare-faced villainy seldom needs 
weighty excuses to justify its acts, and a biased wife is surely 
not well qualified to determine all the rights of her husband. 
A little mound in the corner of their front yard (covered with 
Nature's verdant carpet, made famous by that old common- 
wealth) represented the last resting-place of their only child, a 
little seven-year-old girl. 

“Well, the agent's tongue outran his machines, and one 
thirteenth day of April, at high noon, old Ben returned from 
the field and found that his erstwhile wife had left for parts 
unknown; all her wearing apparel and jewelry was likewise 
missing, which set at rest any suspicion of suicide or foul play. 
The garments of the little buried girl remained, and one of 
these little silken dresses (made in the style of ante-bellum 
days) Ben kept till the day of his death. I want to tell you, 
Howe, there are oceans of love in the garments of a dead friend ; 
yes, sir, I know it. 

“Poor old Ben! that was his last fight, his last match with 
Fate. Spring came; the distended buds put forth their ex- 
uberant foliage; the milk-white snow melted and swelled to 
brimming fullness the mountain brooks; the fluttering wing of 
the vigilant ruffled grouse in flight from the rapaciousness of 
the pluudering wolf — aU c^me in their time and season, but 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


73 


Ben was chronicled an absentee. One night in January he 
beckoned me to his couch, and said he was about to complete 
the voyage from birth to burial. I moistened his lips with 
snow-water, and caught his feeble expressions requesting me 
to lay the little silken dress with him, and put plenty of stone 
on the grave to prevent the wolves from disturbing his last 
claim. He regretted much the bodily exertion and weariness 
he’d put me to on account of his approaching death at that 
time of the year, and preferred cremation rather than go into 
the cavernous earth, were it not that he wanted to sleep with 
the little cherished garment. 

“And so it happened, on the thirteenth day of January, 
his pulse grew weaker and weaker ; he ceased to speak ; we had 
poor nourishments, and I couldn’t get him to eat. I sat by 
him all the night previous; he was going, but intensely slow, 
and I thought with much pain and suffering. He pointed re- 
peatedly into the fireplace, but I failed to understand. I gave 
him a steel ramrod; he held it feebly, pointed to a charred coal, 
and made signs for me to give it to him; I did so; he then 
pointed to my cake-board; I gave him that also; he wrote 
with the coal on the board: ‘I’ll be easy soon. Please don’t 
forget my baby’s dress.’ Thus the blessed creature that had 
lived in his memory for years and years, nurtured and cherished 
as a tender and rare plant, was the last image on the mental 
stage of old Ben’s earthly pilgrimage. 

“The neighbor who gave him the rifle kindly assisted me 
in placing his remains in the rude sepulchre I’d made nearer the 
cabin door in the frozen ground. As we lowered him down 
to his real and undisputed home I spoke, as though addressing 
a multitude : ‘ I ’ll be easy soon. Please don’t forget my baby’s 
dress.’ I placed the cake-board bearing his self-written epi- 
taph as an improvised monument at the head of his grave, and 
the precious little gown was not forgotten, every fiber of which 


74 


MELVIN MACE; 


has long since resolved itself once more to earth above the 
mouldering heart of him whose grief-stricken mind cherished 
it as the most sacred idol of his life/’ 

Mace’s words lingered in Howe’s ears as the last detonating 
peal of thunder loiters in the rear of an electric storm in spring- 
time. Both men found something to engross their attention; 
the burdenous silence was broken by Mace raising his trunk-lid 
and taking out a handkerchief, and the young lawyer folded the 
cot and moved it to the corner of the tent. 

In a furnished room adjoining his office that Sabbath 
afternoon lonesome and meditative sat Howe, trying to repeat 
some of Mace’s aphorisms and reassemble in mental miniature 
his serio-comic actors. He could see the little crippled girl 
straining her memory violently to win the prize that Fate was 
going to award another, and the change from chagrin to ec- 
stasy when the imselfish Mace voluntarily made her the win- 
ner. He could see old Van Camp’s hair combed down to 
hide his maimed ear, and the contrite and penitent farmer who 
refused the Yankee lad a few swallows of water. 

None of Mace’s characters stood out in such bold relief as 
did old Ben Burton. “Poor, poor man!’ murmured Howe; 
“the per cent was against him, but he finally beat the hazard- 
ous game of life — by not playing at it.” 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


75 


CHAPTER IX. 

For weeks and weeks the output from the Chipmunk 
headed the list for the entire district. The ore was the best 
and the prices received therefor were the highest. Before the 
mine had celebrated its first anniversary, it was known that it 
had cleared over four hundred thousand dollars, and showed 
no signs of exhaustion or ‘^blindness. 

The owners were still comparative strangers to each 
other and seldom met, except to divide the net proceeds of a 
week^s sales. Mining brokers and buyers kept fiocking to the 
Chipmunk with incessant frequency and importuning the 
owners to set some price on the property, which they firmly and 
resolutely refused to do; always saying that if it was regarded 
as a good investment for capitalists, by keeping it long enough 
they would become capitalists themselves. 

The weekly profits continued to run from five to eight 
thousand dollars. All their employees received the highest 
prices paid for similar work in the district, with two dollars ad- 
ditional per week for each man, regardless of his station, rank, 
or duties. The money was paid every Saturday night and was 
placed in an envelope with each man's name written thereon, 
below which was printed in bold type, “ Look everyone straight 
in the face," and signed below, ‘‘Yours with respect. The 
Chipmunk Mining Company, by Melvin Mace, President." 

As might have been expected, the company had no trouble 
with their laborers. There was never one word about strikes, 
grievance committees, lockouts, boycots, or black lists. The 
oldest and most experienced men in the whole district said they 
had never seen as little friction in the management of as large 
an enterprise; a pay-roll exceeding one thousand dollars per 
week, and not one harsh word, look, or thought from any source; 


76 MELVIN MACE; 

such actions and dealings of mankind approached the super 
human. 

Ole’s significant remark showed what he thought of their 
men: ‘'Ay tank wa got bes bys Ay haver see.” 

“Oh, no,” Mace replied; “our boys are no better than 
other miners and laboring men throughout the country. We 
understand them and they understand us better than other 
men do.” 

“What yo mane understan — understan?” 

“I mean they know us and we know them better than 
other mine-owners know their workmen.” 

“Yes, yes,” said Ole, “Ay no ow bys. Ay shake da hans.” 

He evidently meant he was friendly with their men and 
would shake hands with all of them as a token of his friendship, 
which time-honored salutation, whether upon the lichen - 
covered crags of Scandinavia’s frigid peninsula, or in the 
lamp-lighted caverns of an American mine, when offered from 
an unpretending and honest heart, has ever been the proof of 
true friendship. 

At last the Tuesday came that made the first annual land- 
mark in the life of the Chipmunk. The men were notified 
that the next day would be a hohday, but their pay would go 
on just the same. A full week’s pay was in each envelope 
Saturday night, but instead of two dollars extra, that amount 
was increased to five dollars, and on the envelope (just below 
the admonition about looking people in the face, in similar 
letters) was printed the sentence, “We see your two and ele- 
vate you three better; hope you’ll stand the raise.” 

The quality of ore increased in fineness as its face in the 
drifts thickened. 

We have heretofore neglected to say that among the 
things possessed by Mace, other than his great physical 
strength, his cheerful disposition, and unselfish habits, he had 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


77 


a large and extraordinarily valuable fund of wagon-horse sense, 
with which he was as liberal as the circumstances of each case 
might require, and when short onexperience, he drew on his 
wisdom (the horse sense), and the drafts were seldom protested. 

Hard hits and big blasts were disturbing the quietude of 
the majestic spider and undermining his very throne, upon 
which royal seat he had sat from unremembered time, and 
beheld with regal eyes the dawn and doom of unenumerated 
eras. 

There is a something well known to many men that has 
long been regarded as the dispatch-bearer of evil tidings; 
whether best to denominate it premonition, presentiment, 
clairvoyance, or ''hunches,” as it is called by many other gents, 
we know not; it is enough here to say that Mace was well 
tinctured with the belief in this indescribable something. 
The weather was never too severe or business too urgent for 
him to pass a horseshoe in the road unnoticed. He would in- 
variably stop and examine it minutely ; if it had no more than 
two nails, he would take it with him and nail it to the first 
forest tree he came to, provided the tree was of a species that 
produced no nuts or fruit, such as elm, dog-wood, and the like ; 
always using the nails in the shoe to fasten it to the tree. 
When twitted by anyone for what they would usually call his 
silly fancies, he would very argumentatively tell them they 
were at liberty to disbelieve it. Sometimes he would add: 
"There's nothing in belief; your belief that kraut is unwhole- 
some doesn't make it taste bad to a Hollander. Both armies 
at Bull Run believed they would win; Napoleon believed he 
would capture Moscow and subdue the Russian Empire, Joseph- 
ine believed he wouldn't. Now you have it; humming-bird 
and alligator hatched from the same egg; two blacks make 
one white; two wrongs make one right; the jury will please 
retire and bring in their verdict.'' In this way he would answer 


78 


MELVIN MACE; 


his upbraiders, not with a desire to foment a discussion, but 
actuated by the hope that he might persuade men to do their 
own thinking; which, after all, is the only avenue that leads to 
success, be it called presentiment, prognostics, or “hunches.” 

One of Mace’s indispensable pieces of furniture was a 
small Franklin stove he had owned for many winters; he had 
it well mounted, and always ready for fuel, and during damp 
or rainy spells in the summertime this little portable fireplace 
in his tent could be seen at evenings, ever aglow with the 
cheerful fagots’ blaze. 

He was a constant reader, and when not at work spent 
almost every moment of his time with books and newspapers. 
About one month after the Chipmunk’s first anniversary there 
was a long spell of cold, damp, and drizzly weather. The sales 
of ore increased beyond the limit of any previous figure, and as 
a producer it stood unequaled. 

Mace spent his evenings as usual, reading, and the evening 
now referred to he was perusing a new novel ; it was a story of 
Western life, and was especially interesting to him on account 
of his having seen many of the places therein mentioned. An 
honest and confiding old farmer and his (best of all friends) 
faithful wife, who had worked themselves deformed trying to 
leave a competency to three daughters, the wives of Messrs. 
Little, Doolittle, and Doless, had just signed and acknowledged 
a negotiable note and mortgage deed for one thousand six hun- 
dred dollars on their small farm to secure the first shipment of 
eight hundred ^Xittle Jewel” labor-savers, which was a patent 
rubber milk extractor, strainer, cream separator, and operator's 
reclining chair, that was guaranteed in writing to practically 
and permanently abolish the occupation of the milkmaid. 
The oily-tongued confidence-man had explained in detail, 
showing how it would take hold of a cow’s udder and in less 
than two minutes drain it to emptiness, separating the milk 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


79 


and cream at the same time. He and his notary were about 
to depart, when up rode a deputy sheriff from an adjoining 
county (where the same game had been worked), arrested and 
put both in irons, compelling him to give back the papers, and 
explaining to the old gentleman that there was no such ma- 
chine; that his design was to sell the note to some county-seat 
banker, who in the end would have owned the little tillage-plot, 
while he and his motherly old wife would have been hobbling 
down the unpaved path from the poor-house to the potter's 
field. 

“Mud and mineral mixed," said Mace, “with the mineral 
slightly predominant; in 'most all grain there is some chaff." 

He was gaping lustily, betokening an admonition of 
drowsiness; he trimmed the fire and put on another piece of 
wood. The bonny blaze mounted higher than usual and set 
fire to the soot on the back wall of the stove. It defined in its 
minute blaze the most unimagined forms and objects. He 
beheld with much interest its odd and irregular capers, shifting 
from the real to the phantasmical and back again to the actual. 
Soon the most mysterious and enigmatic features of the little 
phantom were cleared away. He saw the little 5 appear in 
Spencerian plainness, followed by e and 1. “Sell," said he; 
“they are talking to me, they are talking to me." And that 
all-important word in the business world stood a pillar of fire 
before him till morn. He enjoyed the sweet repose of honest 
and well-earned slumber, but in his dreams he learned an ab- 
breviated alphabet, composed of the letters s-e-l-l; and so in 
his dozing thoughts, not under command of reason, this ocular 
spectrum stood a visible form and image until his rested lids, 
buoyed by the lightness from the downy bosom of Morpheus, 
opened to his eager eyes the splendor of another dawn. 

He informed Ole early that this was to be his first day off 
duty since he commenced work at the Chipmunk. The gloomy 


80 


MELVIN MACE; 


spell of weather had passed into history; by their incessant 
flaps, the tireless wings of the morn had borne the tumbled 
cloud domes high up and over the flint-covered water-sheds 
of the Ozarks. 

Two hours later one could have seen a buggy approach 
Mrs. Long’s house (which had been enlarged by the addition 
of five good rooms since the cloudy Monday). Mace and 
Bruce alighted therefrom and went inside. Easy would have 
been the task, to one acquainted with Mace’s ideas of internal 
impressions and forebodings, to have told the reason that 
prompted a consultation among the Chipmunk’s owners. 
Every phase and feature of their property was discussed, pro 
and con. The conversation was started by Mace reading half 
a dozen or more telegrams from parties making cash offers, the 
last of which was from New York city, and was an uncondi- 
tional offer of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for the 
mine and the machinery; this did not include the uncrushed 
ore already hoisted, commonly called the “clean-up,” probably 
fifteen thousand dollars’ worth, and twenty days were given 
to crush, clean, and market it (the “clean-up”) if the offer 
was accepted. Mrs. Long’s cottage presented a vastly dif- 
ferent appearance than on the day, more than one year past, 
when Mace and Howe drove to it through the fog. One of the 
five new rooms was a tasty and elaborately furnished little 
parlor, in which the deliberations of the partners were begun ; 
but before a conclusion was reached, Mace offered the sug- 
gestion that they adjourn and conclude their discussion in the 
little room that was the council-hall of such fruitful results. 
In this apartment (once called by Mrs. Long the “miserable 
hovel,” where she kept her “little brood,” and now used only 
to store away unused furniture), Mace resumed his remarks. 

“It occurred to me that we’ve already made some money 
out of the Chipmunk. The amount cleared above all ex- 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


81 


penses up till last Saturday night is very close to the half- 
million-dollar mark. I will not presume to say or contend 
that we might not have done better under some other man- 
agement, and I'll say we might have done worse. Now, If I 
understand the object, aim, and intent of this mining by us — 
in fact, any hard work, it is solely for the purpose of making 
money, and not for health, sanitation, and exercise; and should 
we accept this offer," pointing to the New York telegram, "one 
would be remarkably short-sighted who fails to see that we are 
making good easy money, and that without risk or hazard, 
which in mining ventures are perhaps greater than in any other 
calling. Another fact within easy memory is, that we've had 
no serious accidents or fatalities, and only one casualty — 
‘Joe-Joe's' dislocated shoulder, that costing us in wages, doctor 
bills, and cash paid him nine hundred dollars. An evil day 
may come and sweep away much of our profits in the de- 
structive waves of litigation. Again, there could be such a 
thing as our taking the mineral all out — but I 'll not attempt to 
enumerate the many ways by which we could be plunged into 
failure. I prefer to point out one road to success, and that is 
to sell, and sell here and now. Have either of you anything 
to suggest?" 

Bruce, who had ever been against selling at any price, was 
the first to speak. His exact language was: "A change has 
come over the spirit of my dreams. I once thought there was 
some pleasure in making money; I don't think so now; the 
only real happiness that can be had with coin and currency 
is in spending it. Mace's remarks remind me of another un- 
mentioned reason for selling — the price of ore may go down 
and down, and stay down. Thermometers are the only com- 
mercial article that one can safely guarantee to go up, and I 've 
seen a frigid market make them descend. There is more in 
knowing when than how to trade. Those New York folks evi- 


82 


MELVIN MACE; 


dently want the Chipmunk; we may be selling them ten million 
dollars and may be only the ribbed skeleton of the big spider; 
no one knows; no one can see farther into the earth than a 
pick’s point. Early in life I became wedded to the adage, ‘ A 
bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.’ I’d like now to 
sell my interest in the Chipmunk, and celebrate my golden 
marriage, as soon as possible, to that incontrovertible truism.” 

A ballot was spread, which resulted in a unanimous verdict 
for the sale, and Mace was instructed to wire the New Yorkers 
that they had bought a lead and zinc mine. 



THE CHIPMUNK MINE 





I 


1 


I 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


85 


CHAPTER X. 

Two hundred thousand dollars to an American multi- 
millionaire may be a trifle, mere pocket change, to lavish on 
titular sons-in-law, or tickle the palm of a jewel-flngered ali- 
mony fiend, whose modest claims ‘The court further finds to be 
in keeping with her rank and station in life, and consistent with 
the defendant's ability to meet and pay"; but that sum in the 
hands of a widow with four small children, far away from home, 
friends, or relatives, is quite a nice little collection. 

Mrs. Long regarded it her plain duty to employ Howe to 
manage and control her financial affairs; hence authority was 
given him to buy, sell, and loan or otherwise invest her funds 
in such manner as he deemed to her advantage. This he did 
by lending on real-estate security, mostly to young men just 
beginning the ever-arduous undertaking of providing them- 
selves a home. Some choice inside properties in the zinc me- 
tropolis were bought and improved, together with a modern 
suburban residence to be occupied by herself and children. 
All of which netted her an income sufficient to exclude every 
insidious approach of want in any form. 

Oh, how differently the world treats you after you get 
money, whether you spend it or not! None ask how you got 
it, where you got it, or when you got it ; no, no, they never tax 
your time or patience with such weak and witless questions; 
only one interrogatory they propound: ''Have you got it?" 

This money-worshipping contagion defies the surgeon’s 
knife, the apothecary’s drug, and the nurse’s tender treatment; 
no gland can coop up its malignant germs, and no quarantine 
station or pest-house hold or restrain its multitudinous victims, 
who are scarred and pitted so plainly that one good look is a 
complete reading — flattering, cringing, fawning, bend the knee, 


86 


MELVIN MACE; 


lift the tile, curl the Up, and smile at and in the presence of one 
who has or is supposed to have money. 

So it developed that folks who once would not have recog- 
nized Mrs. Long or her little ones, or even admitted that she 
had a valid excuse for existing anywhere on the face of the 
earth, now surged, pushed, fell over each other and swooned, 
for an opportunity to do her some favor or din into her ears 
unstinted praise of the beauty and attractiveness of her children. 

Heck Bruce kept on blacksmithing. He would say some- 
times to an old friend: *'1 'low it'll take more'n two hun- 
dred thousand dollars to make me live some other man's life; 
and my trade is as much a part of myself as my bones, and 
more'n my muscles, for I got it first." 

Scores and scores of men stopped at the shop (a small 
two-forge affair with a wood-workman annex) who had not 
been close to one since they helped fire anvils in the early 
morning of some glorious Fourth of July in boyhood, and ladies 
in silks and fine linens called to ascertain if Mr. Bruce repaired 
eight-day clocks or sewing-machines or helped to put up stoves. 
He had three calls for Bologna sausage in one day — and they 
were "on the square" too, and the work he got to do was a 
sight; he was from three to six weeks behind always, besides 
sending plenty of work to every shop he knew of ; he would look 
at the whole barge-load of repair-work on hand, and say to 
his helper : 

"Oh gosh dang! but they all love to bring swill to a fat 
hog; time was when I'd 'a' run a horse-race through a Louis- 
iana swamp without track or training for a small part of all this 
work. And prices — just think! I charged a dry-land sucker 
two dollars and seventy-five cents for repair-work on a buggy 
(had him leave it, of course) ; think I was about a minute and 
seven seconds on the job; hoped I'd get shut of him, but no — 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


87 


he's brought back two jobs since; I’ll raise him like a drunken 
cowboy with a pat flush. 

^^Blow her long and hard, Ike,” he said to his helper; “I 
don’t want to make the iron hot with the hammer, it is easy 
done with the bellows. The man I learned the trade with 
often said there never was but two blacksmiths went to hell — 
one for not charging enough for his work and the other for pound- 
ing cold steel.” 

“Bruce, don’t you think that this hell business is a by- 
word?” said Ike, as he almost lifted himself off the floor con- 
tracting the huge bellows. 

“It’s by with me, and has been for many years; I ’m ’ston- 
ished that the whole thinking world don’t call a halt and de- 
mand a reckoning,” said Bruce; “and they would, too, if a 
majority of them weren’t running for office all the time. You 
see, when a fellow runs for office, no matter which party nomi- 
nates him, he ’s always on a platform that Reaffirms its devotion 
to time-honored principles’ or ‘points with pride to the illus- 
trious achievements of his party in the past,’ and so on, and 
so on. 

“And there is the little one-syllable school-teacher to con- 
tend with, just teaching ‘dog’ in the forenoon and ‘cat’ after 
dinner — and hell all the time to hold his forty-dollars-a-month 
job. And the clergy — oh, my! oh my! what is there to it? 
But it’ll Anally get cooled off and smoothed down or glossed 
over. The higher critics are cutting it out; it takes lots of 
muscle and borax to weld it to anything that looks reasonable. 

“I’ll tell you, Ike,” Bruce continued, “the seeds of a 
brighter and better belief are now slumbering beneath the 
dead weight of a high-priced superstition, but the April showers 
of the future will Anally reach them, and the searching rays 
of an ever-wakeful sun will breathe into their little baby nos- 
trils the breath of life — not death or damnation, but life. We 


88 


MELVIN MACE; 


need no punishment after death, nor threats of it while living. 
Suffering is in the flesh, not in the grave. Why, if I was mad 
enough to take one by the feet and feed him to a crusher, I 
wouldn't send him to a hell of fire ten seconds, not for the 
warranty deed to a well-improved earth. Ike, where were 
you raised?" 

"I wasn't raised at all," Ike rejoined; "they just throwed 
over feed to me and I growed up. I was born in Arkansas; 
my mother died when I was two months old; my father mar- 
ried again before her tracks were out of the door-yard; we all 
moved to Texas when I was a yearling, and about all the 
raising I got was on the hurricane-deck of a mustang pony be- 
tween Red River and the Rio Grande. Six years ago my 
saddle-horse stepped in a prairie-dog hole, I fell off, and the 
horse on me ; broke my left knee and it has been stiff ever since. 
Of course I couldn't ride, and that event sent me to the scrap- 
pile, like any other broken cog. I concluded I'd ruther be a 
maverick than a hobo. So I strayed off here to the zinc mines, 
thinking that the weeks might have some other days in 'em 
'sides Friday." 

"So you say you was a cowboy for a while?" 

"Yes, a little while — twenty-five years." 

"Did you ever drink any whisky?" 

"Well, I never fooled my money away for bread; that was 
too long a road; I always took a nigh shoot." 

"By jing ! Ike, you tell it well. Gambled too, I suppose? " 

"Went all the gaits known to the track," said Ike; "but 
that gambling is the most dangerous in the whole record of 
racing." 

"Except pride, Ike, except pride; that's the worst range 
of rocks in the reef. When pride builds a house, the family is 
out of doors; when it buys a carriage, they soon have to walk; 
and when it clothes the children, it disrobes the parents; it's 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


89 


the most bitter ingredient in the whole cup of human misery; 
nine-tenths of the people would be thrifty and comfortable if 
it weren’t for pride in some form.” 

The two men talked on in this vein, comparing experiences 
and contrasting dangerous incidents in their own careers. 
Bruce told Ike all about his luck in the Chipmunk; about its 
development, sale, etc.; that Melvin Mace, the controlling 
spirit of the enterprise, had recently left the zinc district and 
gone somewhere in the South. 

Their conversation was frequently interrupted by persons 
in a great rush. Bruce never failed to tell them it would be 
two weeks before he could reach the job, possibly three; still 
the rusher could leave it, seeming to forget his undue eagerness 
and the indispensability of the article sought to be repaired. 

This was the end of Ike’s fifth week as a helper in Bruce’s 
employ; he made no profession of mechanical genius, nor to 
the art of making, fashioning, or constructing metallic or wooden 
substances; all he knew was picked up on a cattle ranch — 
shoeing saddle-horses, repairing Winchesters and revolvers, but 
he was always in the absolute and undisputed possession of an 
entire willingness to undertake anything. He never said, “I 
can’t,” or that this or that or the other was impossible; these 
sentences were foreign to his vocabulary. And although he 
had never heard of the Chipmunk Mining Company’s rules, he 
looked everyone square in the face. He once told Bruce that 
when he saw a man who wouldn’t look you in the face, he 
thought he was ashamed of himself or (like a mule) ashamed 
of his father or his family. 

The days and months came and went; steam plants blew 
the whistles with uninterrupted regularity ; the children of men 
laughed, struggled, grieved, and died; the vicissitudes of life 
left ineffaceable traces and deep-cut furrows on brain and body. 
Mother Earth continued to enforce her inexorable decree to be 
ofttimes drenched with blood and tears. And Father Time, 
“relentless in his ire,” with keen-bladed scythe mowed down 
his quivering human swath, ever insensible to all distress, 
pausing only to point the wicked cutlass to the dial-plate of the 
everlasting calendar, disclosing to all animate things his endless 
calling — execution. 


90 


MELVIN MACE; 


CHAPTER XI. 

Seven years had passed since the Chipmunk’s sale. Many 
fortunes had been made and lost in the district ; new and useful 
processes had been discovered and evolved for cleaning, sep- 
arating, treating, and smelting zinc ore. 

Mrs. Long during this time had been filling the place of 
father, mother, governess, and tutoress for her children. Over 
and often had they been told their family history, as well as 
she herself knew it, and many were the acts of kindness and be- 
nevolence that she bestowed upon the needy and unfortunate. 

It was an unalterable rule in her home never to turn away 
the really distressed, no matter the cause of the grief or ad- 
versity. Her generosity was often imposed upon by profes- 
sional tramps, whose make-believe blistered arms, covered with 
vaseline, procured for them a whole ticket to her bounty. 

The daughters grew handsomer every day. They didn’t 
giggle or chew gum, and they used the word “very” instead of 
“awful” or “awfully.” Everyone conceded them to be by far 
the most beautiful girls in the town. 

Quita was a grown young lady now, past seventeen; wil- 
lowy, graceful, blithe. Her bearing added more and more to 
her excellence; a wealth of raven hair, ornate and lovely, the 
same big baby brown eyes, rosy lips, and cheeks with the 
crimson hue that autumn paints the maple leaves. Nor had 
her native beauty detracted one point from her intellectual 
accomplishments. She played and sang and declaimed well, 
besides being quite proficient in painting, drawing, and cro- 
cheting; but above and by far beyond all (if necessary), she 
could go into the kitchen and prepare a meal that the most 
fastidious could chew and swallow without gastric disturbances, 
and this woefully neglected attainment was her chief pride. 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


91 


Hard indeed would it be to overstock the world with her like, 
and harder still is it to understand their scarcity in the face of 
an unlimited demand. There was never a social gathering to 
which she did not receive a pressing invitation to attend ; every 
one, however, was submitted to her mother, and if she dis- 
sented, the request was declined with regrets. 

The particulars of these events would be incomplete were 
not Mrs. Tong's other children described at greater length. 

'‘Seven years of plenty” had wrought a mighty change 
with Faula and Luling. The Chipmunk's big dividends, no 
doubt, contributed more to their development than any other 
factor; still they possessed by nature so many of the elements 
of ladylike greatness that even abject poverty could not have 
wholly deadened. From little round-faced tots, they too were 
fast approaching womanhood; they were coy, reserved, mod- 
est, and withal good-looking and witty. Little Cub was a 
favorite far and near; the larger he became the more closely 
he resembled the mother. 

Mrs. Long had repeatedly narrated to the children the suc- 
cess of the Chipmunk, and that the day Mace and Howe came 
to their little lonely dwelling on the common was the datemark 
of their delivery from destitution. It was late in the afternoon, 
a cold Saturday in the middle of December; the north wind 
blew cutting blasts that howled in mornful cadences through 
treetops and crevices, foreteaching in its melodramatic serenade 
the inclemency of the approaching night. Feather-like flakes 
of snow spat upon the face of Earth like unruly children, heeding 
not that their short-lived fury would terminate in self-destruc- 
tion; ditches and drainage channels were bank-full of snow- 
broth, and along their sludgy edges it was fast forming into 
murky ice. 

Mrs. Long and her children were already buying, making, 
and collecting together their holiday presents for the approach- 


92 


MELVIN MACE; 


ing Christmas. All the children were at home on this after- 
noon, and, contrary to their wont, were exceedingly quiet; so 
much so that their reservedness had elicited more than one 
comment from their mother. 

“Now that's finished at last," said Quita, as she folded 
and placed in a little box a beautiful white garment. 

“That's a silk wrap for ‘Colorado Chris's' baby girl; she 
is near six months old now, and they have named her for her 
mamma. I saw her last week. Oh, she is a sweet little July 
peach! And this box is for ‘Mrs. Slim' and her two children. 
Say, Faula, what is ‘Mrs. Slim's' right name?" 

“It's De Graff enried. Sister, I thought you were good at 
recollecting names." 

“Not very, when they are as long as that." 

“Well, he is a long man." 

“So he is," replied Quita, “and these presents will not 
shorten him any or his piurse either, but they'll make ‘Mrs. 
Slim' feel almost as lengthy as her husband; it's a full suit for 
both the children and a fur cape for their mother. I 've a no- 
tion to write her a note and tell her that ‘Davy Crocket' fur- 
nished the peltry to make this cape when he worked at the 
Chipmunk. He never got through telling of the wild beasts 
he'd slain and the valuable furs marketed. Mr. Mace said he 
was not only ‘the man who struck Billy Patterson,' but he was 
also the one who ruthlessly killed all the buffaloes of the West, 
thereby compelhng the Indians to make peace with the Gov- 
ernment, that has fed them tenderloin and porterhouse ever 
since; it looked like poor ‘Lo' just ‘gold-bricked' Uncle Sam 
through ‘Davy's' huntsmanship." 

“Folks call that ‘double-crossing' in selling mines," Faula 
added. 

“That's quite as appropriate," Quita rejoined; “I reckon 
Mr. Indian just crossed into the reservation, and the Gov- 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


93 


eminent doubled the rations. Oh, well ! I *11 not write it, for 
‘Davy* is about to get married.** 

“Going to fish instead of hunt,** observed the mother. 

“I suppose so, mother; you know it*s easier to dig bait 
than lead.** 

“Yes, and easier to carry.** 

“Not so easy for the fish,** said Quita; and added, “1*11 
just send a combination hat-rack to ‘Davy,* and he *11 have a 
place to hang his fish.'* 

In like manner were each and all the men who had worked 
at the Chipmunk (when Mrs. I^ong owned an interest in it) re- 
membered with an appropriate offering. So were Howe, 
Bruce, White, and Ike, the helper, presented with some at- 
tractive gift, suitable and in keeping with established usage 
among those able and inclined to make such bestowals. 

But alas! alack! one there was in space somewhere who 
could only be reached with good wishes, good recollections, and 
earnest hopes. He the little New Englander who leveled the 
organs of his vision and ocular knowledge square at the coun- 
tenance of all mankind; he who seven years previous had as- 
sured the bereaved widow that his mission was not mischief 
and that he had no desire or design to hurt or harm. This one, 
the procuring cause of her abundance, was far away and, for 
aught they knew, beyond the compass of communication. 

Twice blessed be they who love to give. Happy indeed 
these folks could they have transmitted to him some memento 
of their gratitude, and happier still to have known that he, 
their unselfish benefactor, was prosperous and contented. O 
Gratitude, virtue of highest excellence, make your permanent 
home among the children of men. Go into the cells and disks 
of babies* brains before the craniums enclosing them harden, 
and there upon infantile thrones establish yourself, and con- 
stitute a part and parcel of their little selves ; permit not the 
legionary forces of Unthankfulness to ever divest you of sov- 
ereignty or tarnish the dignity of your high office with the 
lowest of all iniquities — ungratefulness. 


94 


MELVIN MACE; 


CHAPTER XII. 

The ensuing winter will long be remembered as one of extra- 
ordinary severity. At least two-thirds of the miping plants 
were shut down till spring. There were a few deaths, some 
births, and scarcely marriages enough to speak of. 

“Davy Crockett’s’' wedding took place in January. 
“Davy’s” real name was Silas Whitlow; he married a Miss 
Angie McLudd, whose father was from that part of Ireland 
where the inhabitants are extremely hard to curry, and whose 
descendants are classified in America and Australia from 
featherweights on up. 

The mutual affection and fidelity of their union terminated 
with a flaxen-haired baby boy and a divorce case. “Squire” 
McGuire said the next day after the wedding that the McLudd 
family would not lose anything by giving Angie to “Davy,” 
unless he (“Davy”) took a notion to give her back sometime, 
which he did, with one hundred per cent interest. But Angie 
turned the disastrous voyage of her first venture to good ac- 
count, and put into operation that old truthful maxim, “Better 
be an old man’s dearly beloved darling than a young man’s 
bounden slave.” She married soon after a wealthy bachelor 
of over fifty years (and more than double that many thousand 
dollars), from Montana. He, Angie, and the flaxen-haired 
fosterling spent the winters in Florida, the summers in the 
metropolis of the bi-State zinc district, and quite a quantity 
of the Montana coin at both places. 

The last time the writer saw “Davy” he was comfortably 
located on a leather-bottomed chair in a Joplin pool-hall, 
earnestly seeking to create the impression that Ground-hog 
Day was the fourteenth and not the second day of February. 

Austere Winter finally concluded his frigid labor, and gar- 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


95 


landed Spring gamboled in upon the stage, supported in her 
cheerfulness with mirth-inspired actors, festooned in keeping 
with the cast. 

The flitting wren chattered her inarticulate notes as if 
every preceding cadence had been encored by her delighted 
audience, whose appreciation prompted her to repeat again and 
again the choicest selections acquired by the little migratory 
songster in some far-away Southern conservatory. 

The dark-gowned fluttering swallow balanced in mid air 
on somber wings and peered down into the sooty passages as 
if to learn if Winter lingered yet. Lusterless little chimney- 
sweep, Nature made you not in vain, for in the eternal fitness 
of animated things all the features of your occupation find 
ample warrant. Come back, insectiferous little airship ; speed, 
alone, justifies your existence; build cosy waxen-glued homes 
in the deserted tenement of smoke, and there, in its obscure 
and gloomy track, where none but Santa Claus and you make 
bold to enter, hover, nurture, and educate your tiny sons and 
daughters; there in dusky -lined flues teach them the geography 
of two zones, the orthoepy of swallow language, the philosophy 
of bird life, and that much-sought and some-time-to-be art — 
aerial navigation. 

The gregarious crows, en route to the productive husbandry 
of the North, lurked in unfrequented corners. Oft the young 
and lean-witted would smuggle the last egg from coop or mow, 
while the more skillful stood sentinel in an aged elm's denuded 
arms, and with jetty eyes cast cunning glances at whatever 
resembled a gun-barrel. 

Vegetable as well as animal life was now asserting its tem- 
porary title to earth's occupancy with all its elastic power and 
force. The lowlands spread far and wide their native greenery, 
and hilly eminences held mammal-like to their round bosoms 
the promising buds and blades. 


96 


MELVIN MACE; 


A glaring stream of lightning from a clear sky would have 
been as much expected as Melvin Mace at the home of Mrs. 
Long, but human history is a record of unexpectedness and 
unthought-of , even undreamed-of transactions and events crowd 
to fullness the paged annals of the past. 

It was Mace, and no mistake; the same form, the same 
voice, the same look — that look that no real rational person 
could easily forget; pert, active, erect, and still guiding his 
pupils straight toward all mankind. 

“No, I Ve not changed much; only my hair has whitened. 
Thirty years of hard work is enough to bleach anything.’ ' 

“Do you still live in your tents?” Mrs. Long asked. 

“Yes, and I’ve been remarkably healthy for several years 
until about six months ago I got into the Southern swamps ; I 
didn’t feel so well there. I told a druggist I had something 
like a chill. He said it was a chill, for there was nothing like 
them. I attended a wedding the first week after I went there. 
An old motherly lady came and tapped me on the shoulder and 
said : ' My good man, if the crime you committed in Missouri 
was not too bad, for heaven’s sake take your rosy cheeks back 
there and stand trial, even if you plead guilty and throw 
yourself on the mercy of the court.’ ” 

“Oh! quite well I remember them — that is, their names; 
they ’ ve grown so I ’d never have recognized them. Let ’s see — 
the baby’s name is Cub — and this is he; well, how he has 
grown! Shake, old boy — plumb back to the coat-sleeve, no 
little cold-fingered jerk — that’s the stuff; he’s a little man. 
The girls. I’ll never forget them; the Chipmunk miners once 
thought they were mine, and the compliment has been a comfort 
to me ever since. I have a boy now of my own. 

“Indeed,” said Mrs. Long, thinking Melvin had married 
during his long trip. “Rather small, I suppose?” 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


97 


‘'Not so very small; he's nineteen years old, and weighs in 
the same scale-notch with me; he's a combination of more 
good qualities than any lad I've ever met." 

Answering Faula's question, Mace continued: “I've seen 
'most all the old Chipmunk men since I came back; knew 
all of them at sight. Ole's full-bearded face came nearer fool- 
ing me than any of them, but when he spoke, the mistake was 
all over: ‘Malva, Ay use git mard sin oo bane way.' I con- 
gratulated him earnestly ; found out, however, that I was late 
about expressing my pleasure at his good fortune, as he's been 
married three years or better. I 'll meet all my friends, for 
I've come back to stay; there is one thing sure, it don't pay 
to rove always; we have to live and learn, and die and for- 
get, but I 'll never sheet another wagon to go to a swamp, and 
those who do are certain to get swamped." 

“You haven't told us your boy's name yet," said Quita. 

“ I must not forget that; his name is True Tarver." 

“Pretty name," said Faula. 

“And a handsome boy that bears it," continued Mace; 
“I've had to do with a good many boys and men in my rounds, 
but for natural fitness, disposition, and integrity of life, my boy 
is hard to surpass. Poor boy, he's only lacking in one thing — 
money; but I'm going to help him some; had him with me 
yesterday to Howe's office, and the lawyer took a fancy to him 
— loaned him some good books, and said he wanted to see 
him often." 

“Where did you find him?" 

“Oh, yes; I was leaving that out. I found him away 
down in Dixie, about four years ago; he had come there with 
his parents some years before; while I lived there they both 
died and left him alone in the pinery, shelterless and penniless. 
Gray's mournful ballad expresses all their history in a few 
words: ‘The short and simple annals of the poor.' They 


98 


MELVIN MACE; 


were good people and not selfish, I know it, and in these greedy 
times that’s saying something.” 

Mace was urged to remain and dine with them; he said 
he feared that fifteen years of camp life had disqualified him 
socially among folks used to house life. 

“No, no,” replied Mrs. Long; “never, never; a hundred 
years could not disqualify you or anyone whose standing you’d 
vouch for, at our home, and we want you to bring your boy and 
come and see us. You’ll always be as welcome and as much 
appreciated as your advice was during oiu: darkest days. Quita 
and I remember it; thanks to good fortune, the other girls 
don’t recollect much and little Cub none of it.” 

Tears of gratefulness stole down the little woman’s cheeks 
uninterruptedly, and in her loving voice articulation’s tremor 
adorned every utterance, involuntarily indexing the pages of 
her gratitude. 

As Mace walked to his tents that evening the serried forms 
of the past struggled and surged against the crowded beings of 
the future with such violence as to relegate to forgetfulness the 
things ready at hand. So deeply absorbed was he in this 
mighty contention for mastery that the present had lost all 
dominion over his meditation, its identity being covered up in 
the stormy desert of the long gone by or concealed by the dark 
veil on the face of the things to come. 

“Exactly; now I have it plain and pretty as a rainbow.” 
He stooped over and picked up a bright semicircular-formed 
piece of iron. “Now for the nails, if any.” One was found, 
which being straightened with a stone, the footwear of some 
tired horse he nailed to a nearby sycamore. 

’Tis said that eavesdroppers never hear any good about, 
themselves. Admitted. But one acting in that mischievous 
capacity at Mace’s camp that night would surely have been 
disappointed had he been listening for evil of anyone. 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


99 


‘‘True/’ said Mace, after he had scanned the last column 
of a metropolitan paper, “I’ve built an air-castle to-night in 
less time than Jack’s bean-vine grew to the clouds.” 

“ Did you build it as high? ” inquired the boy, not dreaming 
what Mace meant. 

“No, not so high,” said Mace; “it’s like the German’s 
wife, it’s ‘vider, vider’ — and I don’t believe it’s altogether a 
visionary project, either. I called on Mrs. Long and the 
children this afternoon and dined with them. She was one of 
the Chipmunk’s owners you’ve heard me tell about. I hadn’t 
seen her till to-day. Her oldest daughter, Quita, is grown, and 
she’s lovely, graceful, neat, and possesses a degree of finish 
that it requires half a dozen generations of good breeding to 
produce. 

“Boys frequently take the wrong road — in fact, oftener 
than that. True, I know I did, and you may do hkewise, but 
I hope you won’t. You see. Opportunity knocks once at every 
man’s door; she doesn’t always knock the door down, come in, 
and strike the inmate with a fence-rail, or make a malicious 
assault with an intent to commit a battery on him. No, sir; 
she doesn’t maim anybody; it’s a very easy, gentle, smooth, 
slight, little tap. If she is accorded the right kind of treatment, 
she’ll come in and tarry yet a little; if not, time is the very 
essence of her mission, the chief and important point; she’ll 
put by, in her search for the deserving, and to such things as 
‘Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight,’ she’ll turn 
a deaf ear. Now you can see the foundation walls, roof, and 
gables of my castle in the air. I want you to love this girl, 
Quita; nothing more, nothing less, and nothing else. Not 
with a ‘hip, hip, hurrah! this way, everybody’ sort of love, but 
with an honest, earnest, and magnetic affection, so system- 
atically planned and industriously executed that it will end 
in reciprocation.” 


100 


MELVIN MACE; 


‘‘Well, Uncle Mel’’ (as True called Mace), replied the boy, 
“that is an impossibility. You’ve often told me there are no 
such things. I’d like to agree with you first rate, but I cannot 
and could not, for in my present condition, or in any condition 
I might attain to for years and years, I’d be asolutely barred 
away from a fair attempt at making love to one so much 
my superior.” 

“ Don’t think it, my boy; you have no superiors. Let me 
disillusionize you. I knew your father and mother well; one 
drop of their blood will grow a gentleman over whom none can 
exercise superiority.” 

“I do hope you are right. Uncle Mel; but you’ve often 
told me that those who shoot at the moon hit the earth.” 

“That holds good in gunnery, but not always in archery; 
when Cupid lets fly a dart lunaward, he hits the moon.” 

“And if he liked, he could fly to the moon also; but I’m 
wingless and without the sinews of war and love; as the two 
go together, why, she’d put me on a line of spring poetry as a 
counter-irritant for my ills; I wouldn’t know what to do, say, 
or think.” 

“Hold on a minute; wait — wait — wait; I tell you, vacilla- 
tion wins nothing; ‘I can’t’ loses every skirmish; resolution 
is the parent of all verdicts and victories. ‘I can’t’ is an old 
fly-blown lack-brain, without wisdom to contrive, beauty to 
deck, or strength to execute. You turn the stage management 
over to me, and I ’ll put up a play that will be worth the box 
receipts.” 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


101 


CHAPTER XIII. 

“But for natural fitness, disposition, and integrity of life, 
my boy is hard to surpass. 

This smooth sentence lingered late in Quita’s mind that 
night and combated Sleep’s sweet odors with all the resource- 
fulness of a veteran. The outpost of wakefulness and sub- 
consciousness strove laboriously for supremacy. Sleep’s mol- 
lifying narcotic had almost gained the contest, when Mace’s 
other words came rushing upon the field as if to reinforce their 
well-nigh vanquished allies. “Died and left him alone in the 
pinery, shelterless and penniless.” 

She wished she had not heard that. What had she to do 
with this young man? Why were these sentences so engraven 
in her soul? Why would they not be gone and leave her to her 
due repose? Why stand a barrier like a sore tooth (apparently 
taller than its neighbors) between her and “Nature’s soft 
nurse”? Scores and scores of kindred questions called at her 
mind’s mansion, paused for reply, and took their departure 
unanswered. 

There could be but one solution, one explanation, one 
answer for all these inquiries — natural fitness, suitableness, 
congeniality, tender adaptability. 

“I pity him,” thought the restless girl, “or any child so 
bereft.” Her mind went back to the time when her own dear 
father was taken from them by the icy fingers of Death. She 
saw the flowerful mound above his sleeping-place in the near-by 
acre of the dead, and read again, as was her wont, the words 
on the granite pillar above his tomb. This meditation led her 
doubtless to the unmarked resting-place where the young 
man’s parents lay among the pines and palmettos of the South- 
land. She drew the profile of a rural burying-ground far away 


102 


MELVIN MACE; 


in some region where the bitter blasts of winter seldom visit, 
and where the odorous magnolia bloom gives out its sweetness 
to gratify the living, and the mocking-bird chants his daily 
requiem in veneration of the dead. Passing through the beau- 
tiful evergreen clusters that grew above the mouldering heaps 
of those who once tread the wine-press of this eventful span of 
grief, she came at length to two little sunken places. 

“Ah!” sighed she, “perhaps in these neglected spots are 

laid ” Then the wakeful nerves relaxed their tensive 

hold, and she was wafted into the exhilarating dominions of 
soothing sleep. The all-captivating influences of dreamland 
being now in possession of her every faculty, all the vistas of 
memory were open wide, and the curtain of the future hoisted 
aloft; echoing voices of the dead past blended with future ex- 
pressions, harmoniously as trained choristers. Retrospection 
and Second-sight sat chum-like in the same vine-clad bower. 
Groups of inconceivable absurdities and unlikelihoods paraded 
before her; she saw the disjointed and inarticulate skeletons of 
the ancient Aztecs plough, sow, and reap, and heard a venomous 
quintet of adders sing enchanting strains of melody; fish build 
their nests in lofty trees, whose leafeless boughs conversed with 
flying vultures in plain English. The earth, no longer globular, 
remained, but, flattened out and separated into three decks, 
somewhat resembled the gallery, balcony, and first floor of an 
opera-house, and from the lowest deck were suspended myriads 
of little silken streamers, on one side of which was printed in 
Spanish, “ Cui dado I ” (meaning, “ Look out 1 ”), and on the other 
side of the flag-like banner were fastened with strands of red 
hair large apples, and out of their stems grew little wings. In 
the middle deck of this trisected earth she saw honey-bees as 
large as polar bears playing some games with aluminum globes 
by blowing them into the air with golden bellows; whenever a 
globe would fall, it broke open and would send out pieces of 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


103 


green paper with the sentences pricked in them as with a pin, 
“Jot one, carry three; Fortune can’t take away what she didn’t 
give.” The third floor was carpeted with rugs of Persian fine- 
ness; at intervals of about two minutes an illimitable balloon 
would sink slowly down on this deck and contract itself so 
rapidly before the next came down that it would be no larger 
than an orange; when thus reduced, it ran on the floor at her 
feet and cried in imitation of a baby. 

The drowsy tide reversed its wonted course and carried 
the sleeper on its rocking waves back to the rude cot on the 
common before her father’s death. She was in school again; 
it was Friday afternoon, nearing the weekly interval of relief 
for little ones. She saw the little room furnished with inex- 
pensive seats and desks; it was recitation day, and they were 
all required to speak a piece or read an essay of their own com- 
position. Many had “spoken” and “read”; it came her time. 
At this point she became two persons, the girl and the woman. 
She watched her little self bow to her infantile listeners with the 
dignity of a diplomat. In this double capacity, she observed 
minutely her every move, gesture, and facial expression; the 
large unfilmed brown eyes and long silken lashes, flawless pearly 
teeth, ruby lips, and chubby hands. With a superhuman ef- 
fort worthy of a Webster or a Prentiss, she spoke the poetical 
jewel her mother had taught her: 

'‘Two brown heads with tossing curls, 

Red lips shutting over pearls. 

Bare feet white and wet with dew. 

Two eyes brown and two eyes blue. 

:|c 4c ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ 

They had cheeks like cherry red ; 

He was taller, ’most a head; 

She, with arms like wreaths of snow. 

Swung a basket to and fro. 


104 


MELVIN MACE; 


Life is but a slippery steep. 

Hung with shadows cold and deep.” 
****** 

She was now almost wholly lost in slumber; pleasureful 
scraps and detached pieces of thought passed through her mind 
and served asdessertforthehappy dream-repast just partaken. 
The first scene in the tableau was rounding to its finish when 
Quita the woman concluded the little declamation : 

‘Hn a porch she sits, and lo! 

Swings a basket to and fro. 

Vastly different from the one 
That she swung in years agone. 

This is long, and deep, and wide. 

And has ” 

Rocking waves and gladsome zephyrs inspired a deeper 
sleep and swept the mimical actors from her thoughts. 

Morn’s first beams were throwing their invigoration with 
lavish hand through the lattice and pane when Quita woke. 
The whole forenoon of that day she thought the most melan- 
choly period of her existence. She was morbid, unstrung, de- 
centralized. Every whit of the past night’s dream had been 
mislaid in her memory. In vain did she tax her recollective 
strength for the forgotten ecstasy. It was gone, irretrievebly 
gone; not a letter or line could she exhume from the hazy 
caverns of memory. 

The minutes came and went snail-like; the colorless and 
unromantic day seemed to drag its tiresome length a fortnight. 
The other children, beaming with cheerfulness, luckily failed 
to observe her depressed condition. Excessive dullness con- 
tinued to monopolize every second of her time until in the late 
afternoon she resolved to shake off the drowsy spell that had 
so defied all resistance. She played and sang, painted some, 
did considerable fancy needlework, and, although she hadn’t 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


106 


an ache or pain, even took two doses of medicine, the helpless- 
ness of which is often a glaring blot on the art of healing. 

Modern scientific research has shown how consumption 
can be cured, how malaria and fevers may be prevented, and 
how the most distressing symptoms of diphtheria may be al- 
lieviated and often lastingly cured. But no systematized in- 
vestigation has ever thrown much light in the direction of a 
cure for the blues ; no simple or compound known to the Materia 
Medica dare provoke combat with this formidable foe to hu- 
manity’s quietude; it requires means and measures more pow- 
erful than tinctures. Disorders of the mind will yield to no 
treatment but something originating in contemplation, and in 
the garden of mentality there is an herb that will heal or stay 
the approach of any malady that disturbs the intellectual 
power of human kind. 

As a last resort for the distressing train of thoughts that 
had so persistently harassed her, she went to the attic, resolved 
once more to examine the scanty store of effects which once con- 
stituted their belongings before the Chipmunk’s bounteousness 
had transferred them from the ranks of want to wealth. Every 
piece of the furniture had been stored all these years. She re- 
garded these chattels with a devotion approaching sacredness. 

After every article had been examined closely, her glance 
fell upon Cub’s little cradle. Both hands flew up. Riveting 
her eyes on the rockers, she exclaimed: ‘And has rockers on 

each side.’ I’ve found it — the key that unlocks the steel-clad 
receptacle of my queer dream ! Oh, you preccious little heir- 
loom ! without you my sleep-thoughts would never have crossed 
the boundary line of oblivion.” 

She felt relieved immeasurably. Care, burden, anxiety, 
and uneasiness, all of which had flaunted their black flags of 
distress in her presence the whole day, had now fled to un- 
known quarters and left her felicitating the advent of her re- 


106 


MELVIN MACE; 


lease from them. She spent the remainder of her time in the 
garret fitting and dovetailing together the cardinal features 
of her dream. The undertaking seemed easy until she began 
to more fully understand all the details; then entanglement 
and perplexity again swaggered to the front to reassert their 
supremacy. 

‘‘Aye, aye, even so,'* said Quita; “I can truly say with 
Byron, ‘I had a dream, which was not all a dream.' Oh for 
some Joseph to unfold the meaning of my sleep visions; to lay 
open the things concealed and explain them ! But such cannot 
be; soothsayers, familiar spirits, and foreknowers belong not 
to this age. I'm persuaded to venture a long-range forecast 
on the meaning of this phantom myself. 

“Skeletons, sowing, reaping; do they allude to my father's 
interest in the Chipmunk, which never developed until his 
death? Trees talking with vultures; that must be our family, 
for the worst professional tramp on the round earth can get 
food and plenty of kind words. And the growing wishbones 
and little cradle bed, what do they both predict? Well, well; 
I'm not a prophetess. If they allude to a future fact or act, 
I 'll let them stand or fall when testing-time comes." 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


107 


CHAPTER XIV. 

Many phases of successful management must of necessity 
go through experimental stages, and none are more familiar 
with this truism than a practical miner. It is not expedient 
to experiment very much in surgery or in legislation and many 
other things, but in mining the more the better, and it is only 
by a series of experiments that any uniform laws of mining are 
ever ascertained. In this old time-honored experimental school 
Mace had acquired his ‘'try again’' habit to a nicety; re- 
treating from the field often in good order, but never consid- 
ering for a moment any proposition for a surrender. So when, 
after True and Quita had become acquainted, he had confided 
to Mace his candid opinion that any trial he might make in a 
love-affair would prove fruitless, or worse, Mace took a large 
chew of tobacco, or recruited a half-wasted one, and said : 

“Now, now, be easy; you’ve got another throw; the spots 
are not worn off the dice yet. Charley Goodyear didn’t vul- 
canize rubber the first dash out of the box, and Elias Howe’s 
lockstitch needle wasn’t at its best the first jump either. You 
fall before you’re fired on; stay and take the count. You may 
scramble up when the referee gets in the vicinity of eight or 
nine, and ultimately win the belt. You can’t weigh, measure, 
or estimate what can be done by trying. A battle is never lost 
until it is fought. In that old Fourth Reader race, we’d all 
have bet on the rabbit; tortoise money, one to a hundred, 
wouldn’t have lasted till it was all gone; and yet Judge Fox 
was compelled to decide that Mr. Tortoise had won the race 
hands down, leaf, stem, and stump. No, sir-ee; don’t tell me 
that any well-directed effort is ever fruitless; you see, I’m one 
of the unterrified who knows different. And now, my boy,’^ 
Mace continued, with an air and attitude indicative of observa- 


108 


MELVIN MACE; 


tion, ‘"there is to be a swell affair at Mrs. Long’s next Tuesday 
night; she’s going to have all the old Chipmunk people, owners 
and employees, all that can possibly come, from A to &, You 
and I are urgently requested to be on hand. There will be 
music, speech-making, and refreshments, light, medium, and 
heavy. I want you to make a talk. Of course you know 
nothing of the Chipmunk’s history, but any subject well han- 
dled will be appropriate.^' 

“Suppose, Uncle Mel, I can’t handle any subject well.” 

“Then do the next best thing,” said Mace; “handle it the 
best you can. You can’t expect to develop into a Vorhees or a 
Vest at your age, and if you should, you’d have to die before 
the bulk of the people would set much to your credit.” 

“Very likely you’re right,” replied True, “but I mustn’t 
try to make a speech; these Northern people say I don’t talk 
properly.” 

‘ ‘ There you go again ! Haven’t I told you often, anything is 
proper that can be understood? Don’t you know that Gen- 
eral Washington said ‘hoss,’ ‘dollah,’ ‘brothah,’ ‘sistah,’ ‘barr- 
footed,’ and ‘ up-stahs’ ? and so did his mother and Lincoln’s 
too, and thousands of others — ^good’ns — drop out their rs so 
hard that they broke all to pieces. Let them say you talk like 
a ‘niggah’ if they want to say it; it isn’t true by any means; 
the fact is, the colored man talks like you. He learned to 
talk from your people, and they all — you with them — learned 
it from their dear old mothers. No, sir-ee; stick to your dia- 
lect; don’t resurrect the r; you don’t need it; your mother 
didn’t, and didn’t use it, and a man isn’t worth a damn a dozen 
that doesn’t talk like his mother.” 

It was going on the third month since True began studying 
law with Howe. It was plain he was more than an ordinary poor 
boy, such as is met every day trying to climb the ‘^greased 
pole” from the school-room to a good annual income. He was 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


109 


diligently devoted to the acquisition of knowledge from books, 
as well as attentive and careful, and was an expert questioner; 
once was often enough to tell him anything, for, like Mace, his 
foster-father and friend, little that was useful escaped his 
memory. 

Besides poring over Blackstone, Kent, and Bouvier nine 
or ten hours every day, he devoted about four hours at night 
to Shakespeare, Msop, Swift, and such other standard works 
as he could get, as well as the newspapers. 

Howe came to see them almost every Sunday afternoon 
and took Mace for a long ride through the ledge-builded Shoal 
Creek hills. On these invigorating airings they discussed with 
absolute freedom their circumstances, surroundings, conditions, 
desires, and past histories; perhaps never before was Mace so 
open and unrestrained on all subjects. 

On one of these trips Howe sought to persuade Mace to 
give up his secluded life, move to the zinc metropolis, mix and 
mingle with men of affairs, and, as he expressed it, really be 
somebody sure enough. 

*‘No; I prefer to remain just where I am, so far as domicile 
is concerned; not that I am mad at the world or opposed to its 
laws and rules of domesticity ; I do believe, however, in keeping 
a close watch on the human animal. Old Bill Burton used to 
say he wasn't afraid the world was getting any worse; it was 
like the Irish woman's son; she said she had no fears that 
Jimmie would ever be any worse, for he was as bad right then 
as he could get. 

‘'Yes, sir," Mace continued, “I had become inured to 
solitude before I picked up your student ; so much so that often 
the human voice was a grating discord to my ears, man's 
nature a black-hearted and evil- tainted lie, and his shape almost 
an inconceivable monstrosity, but I seldom tell my thoughts 
along these lines, and keep such impressions mostly to myself. 


no 


MELVIN MACE; 


There is no profit in loading your estimate of men on their own 
scales, especially if they do the weighing. But I*m not an- 
swering your question; I always answer one query by pro- 
pounding two more and then answering my own. In the first 
place, I am constantly on good terms with myself ; I have never 
violated one treaty made with Melvin Mace, Esq., and I don't 
think he has. 

“Now, if you'll study hard on that a long time, then probe 
it and let the sun shine through it good, you'll see its too 
valuable a package for an 'old horse sale.' I think it a good 
doctrine to let run at large. Faults I have many, and mistakes 
I've made by the score (as the funeral orator says) — who of 
us have not? — but I've always bored a straight hole with my- 
self. And secondly, I 'm not very gregarious ; I never was over- 
stocked with a desire to herd up much ; this may be due to ra- 
pacity on my part. Zoologists say that rapacious animals are 
not generally gregarious. And third, and lastly, I tried your 
plan once upon an untimely time, and failed egregiously; that 
issue is fought and finished in my mind as definitely as the 
battle of Yorktown." 

“Your answers, Mace,'' replied Howe, “are doubtless sat- 
isfactory to yourself, but do they yield content to all persons 
interested in your existence? Natural law demands of us a 
contribution to society commensurate with our abilities. One 
with a force of understanding larger than the common herd 
should make partition with them, and while legislative arms 
are too weak to write it in the statute-books, and our executives 
perhaps powerless to enforce it if enacted, nevertheless it is an 
authority that has received the sanction of conscience ever 
since the human family began trying to do the right thing.'' 

“I don't contradict that," said Mace. “The only differ- 
ence between us, if any, would be the manner of the partition 
and who would constitute the arbitrators to measure and pass 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


Ill 


on the understanding. If left to you and those who hold your 
views, you would say that what intellectual candle-power I have 
is under a bushel. I and my kind would assert that my method 
of living — hedged with a disposition forced upon me by hered- 
ity, pride, bravery, or disease — is more productive of good 
than if I were an all-around mixer. The recluse lives of 
David Crockett, Daniel Boone, James Bridger, Kit Carson, 
and others of their cast and kind, stand among the greatest 
lights in American history. These fellows were willing to do 
things. I like to follow their examples. Somebody had to kill 
the rattlesnakes, discover the mountain passes, and locate the 
valuable minerals. It requires very little courage to sit down 
and eat a great big meal that some poor back-aching woman 
has spent half a day in preparing (peeling, parboiling, and the 
like) one thousand and ninety-five times per annum, and very 
little more boldness does it take to don a shirt washed and 
ironed by her whose feet are swollen at nightfall because the 
valvular action of her heart is too weak to pump the sluggish 
blood up from them. No, sir-ee; bedad! IVe too much grit 
in my crop to stand for the like of that ; there is nothing that tires 
me so much and so acutely as to see and hear an old 'iron gray’ 
take the easy chair at the head of the Sunday dinner-table and 
begin, ' We want to thank Thee for thus bestowing upon us from 
Thy bounteous storehouse these articles for oiu* daily suste- 
nance,' and so on, after his poor walking clothes-frame wife 
has drudged the whole forenoon cooking the repast on an old 
crematorium-like stove with a soggy pine box and a rotten 
fence-post for fuel; and then maybe he gets up singing: 

‘Oh! we love to come to our Sabbath home 
When the six days’ toil are o’er,’ 

when every soul in the county knows that he hasn't done a 
day's work in twenty years; 

‘And read and sing of our Heavenly King, 

And learn to love Him more,’ 


112 


MELVIN MACE; 


when the gluttonous old hypocrite loves to stuff his maw with 
the good things prepared by the bird-claw hands of his slave- 
wife eight million times more than he does to read or sing of any 
thing, person, or place here, hereabouts, or hereafter. Far 
more appropriate would be that other old melodized triumphal, 
^My Gospel Ship Is Overloaded.’ ” 

“I have an unbidden sense of fear, mixed with a crude 
theory of my own,” replied Howe apologetically, ^‘that one of 
your chief misfortunes has been a very close observation of the 
bad; and while I would be the last person to charge you by 
indirection or otherwise with willfully or inadvertently seeking 
out isolated examples of villainy, yet it is not improbable, 
Mace, that some, maybe many, individual occurrences of merit 
have escaped through the meshes of your closely drawn net.” 

'^Nor will I gainsay that proposition; your theory may be 
rigidly correct, but you know what a theory is; it’s like a mule 
we had at the coal-mines in Illinois; the pit boss said he had 
three gaits — start, stumble, and fall. When you want to make 
a forced march with a theory, you get laid down on. You re- 
member what the ’rithmetic said: ‘Theorem (from theory) ^ 
something to be proved; problem, something to be done.’ We 
might say: Problem — the tree; theorem — the shadow of the 
tree. Shadow — nothing; the larger the tree the bigger the 
nothing; the more long-drawn and elaborate the theory the 
larger the diameter of the bung-hole without the barrel. My 
isolated examples of villainy you speak of have never been 
fanciful, or the products of a dreamy shuttle woven in the loom 
of disjointed thoughts; to say the very least, they have been 
the real things. Many good deeds may have eluded my ob- 
servation, and for squareness I ’ll admit it ; if so, it signifies no 
degree of criminal negligence on my part; and many good- 
intentioned people may have done badly in my presence and 
hearing just for curiosity. I don’t say they did; I am not 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


113 


scenting backward, lost- hound-like, for a cause; I'm only 
dissecting discovered effects. There "s no good in counter- 
hunting on the trail of a furious beast after you are bitten, or 
tracking the poisoned arrow back to the tight string that sent 
it. In such cases the wound is the all-absorbing feature of 
attention. Hours and days, Howe, are too limited to burn in 
theorizing, especially to one who has had fifty birthdays. 
But the most lamentable part in the whole make-up of nearly 
all theories is their falsity; nine-tenths of them are untrue, 
in fact. Why, bless my time! Howe, since I've been a man 
fully grown, of lawful age, I 've heard some of the noted divines 
in America preach that 'most all the nooks, corners, and out- 
of-the-way places in hell were filled with infants a span long — 
think of that! Eight little fat-breeched cherubs to the fathom 
— unless the metric system has been adopted as the standard 
of measure for the smoky lake; if so, then it's eight to the 
something else; at any rate, just think (one-twelfth of a 
moment) of their little chubby palms outstretched from the 
twentieth-story windows of the bottomless pit, pleading like 
Dives to their mothers, who are striking glad hands on the 
sunny slopes of sweet deliverance; then you are face to face 
with a theory in all its beauty. That was one of the most 
pronounced theories that was soughty boughty and taught in 
this big country much less than fifty years ago. Howe, I will 
bet," continued Mace, as if inviting another interrogatory, 
"that some, if not all, of these statements grate on your or- 
thodox ears; but if they do, you have then got me stood off, 
for they coat my agnostic tongue to tell them. You remember 
I used to have a rule that I was engaged to by holy vows, and 
I practice it yet as religiously as ever; but I've added another 
one. To my code of conduct in late years, my old rule, ‘ Look 
everyone square in the face,' I've subjoined this one: ‘Job 
error.' It's short and easy to recollect. While the twain are 


114 


MELVIN MACE; 


as dissimilar as the features of the human family, yet there is 
a co-efficacy arising from their union that is good law ; not good 
theory, but good practice — wholesome, salutary, sound. So 
I have affirmed and declared that whenever and wherever I 
see clearly and feel keenly error, either voluntary or involun- 
tary, I ’m going to combat it with all honorable means. I may 
not overthrow, conquer, or defeat it, but there is one thing 
certain besides death and taxes, and that is, I will not let it 
gain sovereignty over me if I know it; and should I succeed 
with all my might in subduing one deep-seated error. I’ll be 
entitled to endless honors. I said I had tried your plan and 
failed; now I’ll explain by telling you something that few 
people know. I’ve told no one in these parts — not that it’s a 
secret, but simply because the public has not been concerned. 
There is a woman somewhere who was once my lawful wife and 
the mother of as sweet a baby girl as ever gladdened a parental 
heart : thanks to a tender Providence, she died, and our family 
plant lost its only tendril before the placid stream of connubial 
love sank into the burning sands of unendurable discontent. 
Howe, I don’t know,” Mace continued reflectively, “but the 
sweetest words are often the unuttered, and the ablest defense 
silence. ’Tisn’t the elicitation of sympathy or anything of 
that sort that moves me to tell you my domestic distress; that 
has little, if anything, to do with our subject; every man’s 
load of grief becomes a staggering burden at times, and it re- 
lieves the heart to disclose what lies heaviest on it. I don’t do 
so in the hope that my load will ever be borne by other shoulders 
than mine. The tormenting daggers of the dark past have 
done their worst; the ugly and lasting scars they’ve cut and 
seared in the folios of my brain I’m willing to carry and coceal, 
happily knowing that they end with my last pulsation. 

“Yes, sir, I married nearly twenty years ago, and long after 
old Ben Burton, my inimitable friend, told me that it was 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


115 


almost a certainty, if I ever embarked on a matrimonial voy- 
age, that it would require superior skill, strengthened with an 
abundance of good luck, to make the venture pan out. 

“Man is the only creature that will not profit by the ex- 
perience of his fellows. The blind ant will touch and turn back 
a thousand of his co-workers from a dangerous mire in a ten- 
yard trip; the wise wild gander^s cautious honk is submissively 
obeyed by the whole V-shaped flock; but lurking somewhere in 
the human fibrous structure is a mutinous tissue that spews 
up sweet consultation as a dog does green grass. This unjusti- 
fiable and unaccountable obstinacy has caused the major part 
of man s woe-laden condition, and will continue to be the sor- 
row-burdened millstone about his neck until the birth-bells of 
some age of ripeness when the children of men shall read and 
heed the danger-signals erected by older heads along life’s per- 
ilous avenues. 

'' ‘One with a force of understanding larger than the 
common herd should make partition with them.* Howe, you 
said something your own self,** continued Mace, as if wanting 
to go back and take up an overlooked thread in the first skein 
of their conversation. “Let*s soak that in salt water awhile, 
and see if we can get a fish taste out of it. To begin, who is 
the common herd, or, more gramatically, who are they? They 
are the Smiths, Browns, Joneses, Tom, Dick, and Harry, ‘Faro 
Dan,* ‘Alkali Ike,* ‘Iron- jawed Nell, ‘Frog-mouthed Annie,* 
and many, many more — in fact, very nearly everybody, all 
well stirred up and shook down into one conglomerated human 
hodgepodge. It is a big box of foxes; the sight and scent of 
some of them would jar the cherries off a summer hat. Howe, 
you*re right, more than right; understanding should be par- 
celed out. It earns no interest while hoarded, but oh, my! 
what an undertaking to force reason into an ungifted and 
densely prejudiced mind! and how often the attempt remains 


116 


MELVIN MACE; 


only an attempt! Yesterday I talked with an intelligent- 
looking woman who believes in ghosts. I reasoned with her 
the best I could and said: 

“ 'Lady, you’re honestly mistaken about your own belief. 
You can’t believe such things.’ 

“ 'Can’t I?’ came her quick retort. 'Do you believe in 
the city of Denver?’ 

" 'Yes; I know there is such a place,’ said I, 'for I’ve 
seen it.’ 

" 'Just so,^ said she, 'is my belief in ghosts rooted, for I 
have seen them — not one or twelve, or ten score, but thousands 
upon thousands, over and often.’ 

"Now, what more could I do or say along the line of 
making partition with her? Not one little thing — no part, 
portion, quantity, or degree. I just thought and thought.’’ 

"That’s a matter of her own veracity, Mace,” said Howe, 
"or, rather, a want of veracity; she ought to be impeached; 
I’ll venture her neighbors wouldn’t believe her on oath, not 
one of them.” 

"Now don’t venture too much on that; you might lose. 
It ’s a crime to bet if you lose, and you ’re too close to the State 
line to wager much against crankism,” said Mace, giving Howe 
a look that was a combination of a good-natured smile and a 
mild contempt. 

" Crankism has got a hold on the earth that is hard to un- 
loose; mankind always disagreed, quarreled, fought, and mur- 
dered about the unascertainable. Now, will it pay, or is it 
always right, to tell folks the way of learnedness in the face 
of an opposition amounting to open war? Dr. Harvey discov- 
ered the circulation of the blood, and they did a plenty for him, 
didn’t they? Only killed him — why, they declared by public 
manifestoes that his works and words were insurrectionary, 
and that he merited death — and why? That’s easy: he was 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


117 


teaching something new; so was Saul of Tarsus, Joseph Smith, 
and Mary Eddy/' 

''I know that, Mace; but, you see, that was upwards of 
three hundred years ago ; people were ignorant then, and con- 
tented with it." 

"True enough, Howe; but it makes no difference as to 
time. Time, that spells nothing; you can justify anything or 
anybody by the record, and dig up any proofs you want out of 
history. They also had fried witches for breakfast about 
those times, and for a change of menu had them smothered 
with onions a la Salem, Massachusetts. The common people 
then had no time to think; it took all their time to plow, plant, 
reap, flail, toil, and labor day in and day out and day in again; 
to stay hunger and hide nakedness. The nobleman spent his 
valuable time in the corner drunkery, or planning fresh ad- 
ventures among the easy amorettes, unless the bishop hap- 
pened to need his help to iron out some church difficulty or 
formulate a new article of faith. He could sober up long 
enough for that." 

"Howe, I often think there should be a law passed against 
quoting anything as authentic that occurred, or is reported to 
have occurred, before the discovery of America; every mother’s 
son of them, except Columbus, thought the earth was flat, when 
they had evidence sky-high of its roundness; and, as conclusive 
and absolute proof of their infinitesimal littleness, they cast him 
into prison for publishing an account of things that had always 
existed. Whoop! big Indians them! And after the poor old 
navigator died of want, starvation, and ill treatment, they did 
as we do now — no, not we, for I ’m not of the penitent portion 
of mankind who worship backwards; but they did as a vast 
majority do these days, cried themselves into sore eyes, and 
moved him so often from place to place, as though his skeleton 
had something to do with his thinking. Oh, how sorry they 


118 


MELVIN MACE; 


were after his death! Looks like one good strong repentance 
would be enough, but no; the Dr. Harvey tragedy, the Salem 
conflagration, the Nauvoo, Illinois, murder, and a million more 
examples of such unauthorized human violences, have been 
enacted since. You can't teach grown persons much; their 
heads are not the right shape, and their skulls are too thick — 
they've glanced more bullets than the craniums of all other 
animals; the only way to ‘make up’ a really sensible man 
(after giving him a good rational father and mother) is to begin 
when he's about seven or eight years of age and give him (in 
equal parts) large doses of truth and good treatment. The 
world has tried everything else like the old doctors tried 
bleeding and blistering. When I was a boy, if one got sick, a 
surgeon was sent for post-haste, who bled him instanter ; if the 
patient recovered, of course the blood-letting did it; if he died, 
it was because the surgeon did not get there in time with 
his lancet. 

“Pages, chapters and whole volumes were written and 
printed and, I’m sorry to say, read on the subject of vene- 
section or blood-letting. Just take a look at a surgeon's li- 
brary a few years back, first volume on the top shelf : ' Phle- 

botomy y or the Science and Practice of Opening Veins for the Cure 
of Diseases and Preserving Health, By Elijah Theophilus 
Cutum Downy A,B.y LL.D.y and M,D,' W-h-e-w! Wouldn’t 
that look in these days like a little Negro baby in a big silver 
bathtub? I'm truly glad I've added the new 'Job error* rule 
to my other guide precepts. I was always willing and anxious 
to be doing something, and this rule in force keeps one well 
employed; there are many errors and combinations of deceit 
that need knocking out. They are on the go day and night, 
pell-mell, helter-skelter. The public will give me no kind 
thoughts or thanks; I'm not working for that sort of pay any- 
how, but chiefly to get a good doctrine out of a bad rut, and 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


119 


fix the road for better travelling in the future. If an expensive 
and villainous belief is completely unhorsed, theT^generations 
coming on will never know the mischief it wrought while in op- 
eration; and they are the little tots I'm going to try to assist; 
I want them to have a better stage than I've played on — 
they'll need it." 

Howe seemed bewildered at Mace'^ dissertation, and the 
Yankee way he had of putting his thoughts into sentences; 
the more he gazed at the distant illusions the closer they ap- 
peared to him, and many of Mace's hints and intimations be- 
came on minute examination truths uncontradict able. After 
he had apparently digested the last bit of nourishing mental 
sustenance possible for him to draw through the medium of his 
earnest meditation from Mace's erudite though somewhat zig- 
zagging remarks, he clamped Mace by the hand, and said : 

‘‘My friend, you've handed down a decision reversing all 
precedents; ^almost thou persuadest me to be a’ " 

“Free man," interjected Mace. 

“Precisely so, precisely so, and you're a mind-reader." 

“No, not a mind-reader; just a lucky guesser." 

Their chatty tendencies gradually drifted on to the robust 
hope each cherished for the some time to be; and the good 
things that the upgoing curtain of the future might reveal to 
the impatient multitudes who'd be in waiting for the little 
three-act tragedy — birth, marriage, and death. 

Oh, wee-faced, tender, swaddling-clothed buds of con- 
nubial bliss, oases on the desert of existence, the only bubbling, 
rippling, satisfying fountains along the stony thoroughfare of 
life! Wedlock (second act on the uncharted program), thou 
pernicious and unreliable lottery ticket, unblemished fruit, 
whose succulency may be the fountain of youth, or whose 
poisonous secretions, upas-like, contaminate even the zephyrs 
that blow near it. Granite or swansdown ; fairest, foulest ; dark- 


120 


MELVIN MACE; 


est, lightest; longest, shortest; perpetually blest or irrevocably 
cursed; medium of joy, sorrow, love, hate, incontinency, and a 
thousand other contemptible traits and noble features, beyond 
the dream of dictionaries. Life’s greatest medley, whose mixed 
and mingled ingredients run along and into the third and last 
act in the performance, in which the lowering cords of the un- 
dertaker let the abandoned tenement of clay down and back 
to its elemental kindred — helpless decrepitude, comfortless 
dotage, wrinkles and rags; the favored and the unfavored; 
the faithful and the treacherous; the well-to-do and the needy; 
the skillful and the unlearned; all, all, victims and victorious, 
must finally unite in one long and lasting ‘^Good-bye all, good- 
bye 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


121 


CHAPTER XV. 

The following Wednesday morning^s issue of The Miners^ 
Messmate gave a several-column write-up regarding the Chip- 
munk^s banquet at Mrs. Long’s; the paper’s reportorial staff 
was on hand in full force; not only did it give a detailed ac- 
count of the affair, but also contained a lavish editorial, rich 
with complimentary praises for all the attendants. The gath- 
ering, which at first was intended to be very informal, developed 
into an assemblage possessing a fair share of elevated deport- 
ment as well as intellectuality. The subjects, which had been 
prearranged by the toastmaster, were handled in a way that 
few present expected to hear. After the tasteful things had 
been managed according to the latest dignified standards, the 
speakers, in the order of their own arranging, were given the 
best attention. 

Heck Bruce, responding to the subject ^^The World We 
Heard About,” said in part: 

''My dear old Chipmunkers: I want to tell you that it 
affords me great pleasure to once more meet and be with you. 
I have lived in many neighborhoods; in fact, was a rambler for 
more than one-half of my life, and would be to-day had not the 
Chipmunk's dividends provided me a competence sufficient for 
the ‘rainy days’ of my approaching age. I like this vicinity in 
every respect far better than any other place I’ve ever lived; 
if I didn’t, I wouldn’t stay here. 

“Beginning, I’ll ask you to blot from memory, if possible, 
my many mistakes in language, as most words are only sounds 
anyway, and if we had a perfect language, which is an im- 
possibility, some new-hatched grammarian would rush upon 
the scene and prove beyond the minutest doubt that it was 
improper, inelegant, and offensive. 


122 


MELVIN MACE; 


'‘The world we heard about and the one we know about 
are two separate, different, and distinct globes, governed, 
ruled, controlled, and influenced by two separate, different, and 
distinct codes of laws. Let me illustrate by instancing a few 
examples : That all men are created free and equal ; that every 
man is the architect of his own misfortune; that you should 
love your neighbor as yourself ; and that little Bopeep lost her 
sheep. These things, and thousands more smooth-flowing senti- 
ments like unto them, constitute a large part of the world we 
heard about. 

‘Xet’s look at the other sphere a moment, whirling about 
in its orbit. There never were two individuals created, born, 
or evolved on absolute equality, and few, if any, free; that 
the man who is the architect of his own misfortune is he, 
and he only, who has no wife, child, father, mother, grand- 
father, grandmother, friend, or foe, nor ever had, to superin- 
tend the construction of the human edifice; that to love your 
neighbor as yourself in every respect, at all times, and under 
all circumstances is a doctrinal proposition that was not, 
can not, has not, and will not ever be obeyed by any man, set 
of men, firm, corporation, or co-partnership; that Bopeep will 
be compelled to search hills and hollows in order to find her 
bell-wether and the rest of the flock (not killed by dogs and 
wolves) is absolutely certain. 

“These are a little, wee, tiny less than any assignable small 
quantity of the world's characteristics we know about, and, 
my friends, when I say I know about, I don’t mean in all proba- 
bility, or it is quite likely, or that good, truthful, and reliable 
folks say so, or that is the common understanding among the 
well-informed and practical business men; but I mean know, 
in all its fullest, broadest, and most comprehensive signification. 

“After you grow up, Santa Claus quits coming; his dap- 
pled and well-matched span of elks are unyoked and turned 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


123 


out on the common for all time to come — so far as you, my 
adult friends, are concerned. There is no pot of gold at the 
rainbow’s base for grown people. Saffron butterflies passing 
you on Tuesday are no evidence that you will get a yellow silk 
dress soon, and all the salt of commerce thrown on the bird’s 
tail won’t catch it, except in the mind of infancy, and only 
there for a little while. 

‘'My hearers, these childhood hallucinations are certain to 
come to a sudden or a gradual termination; delusions must 
cease, and rigid realities take their places along the firing-line. 
I want to ask you, one and all, to never miss an opportunity to 
tell your children: ‘Look out, take care, watch him.’ ‘Don’t 
believe what you hear, and only a little of what you see.’ 
‘Don’t lend him those few dollars; if you do, you’re putting 
money down, down, down that you’ll never pick up.’ I be- 
lieve the world we hear about and the world we know about 
ought to be bottled up and well shaken before taking, so that 
all cuts would contain both streaks of fat and lean. Grown 
people hold too many seances with childhood; in fact, they hold 
too many with themselves; were it not for the fact that, like 
an over-dose of poison, they cure themselves. 

“The easiest thing in life is to overdo a thing, and the most 
difficult is to know when you are overdoing it. We pile and 
load the stage full of myths, fictions, images, idols, and other 
forms of false representations, and, on the pretext of future 
applause, we invite the gaze of youth, while we ourselves 
chatter like monkeys between acts, thinking of the good things 
our share of the box-money will buy. Shame on us ! shame on 
us ! Let ’s tell the truth, and tell it now, to-morrow, next week, 
and all the time, and live it, and live it, and dive it. It’s 
worse to live a lie than tell it. One is just a simple lie; the 
other is a compound of deception and falsehood — powder and 
ball — that does the assassin’s work. I, for one, firmly believe 


124 


MELVIN MACE; 


that the time has fully arrived when we should tell what we 
know about this world and its people (if we know anything), 
and not what someone told us the world would be when we got 
our little frail barks launched into and onto it. 

“We’re only in the world’s inventive dawn. Little has 
been discovered — scarcely enough to invoice; and yet we are 
spending our precious time and hard-earned dollars trying to 
convince ourselves and others that this is the same world we 
heard about. We give men hundreds of dollars per annum, 
current money with the merchants, to dig from the undiscov- 
erable secrets of the past our high-priced ideas of an unneeded 
future punishment. 

“ I long for an age of common sense; a day of wisdom when 
good wagon-horse sense will be the rock of appeal for all 
that live. 

“Almost all of our speakers and writers are constantly 
harping about marvelous achievements, wonderful discoveries, 
extraordinary advancement, rapid progressional strides along 
inventive lines. Now, what have we invented? what have we 
discovered? and, for truth’s sake, how much have we achieved? 
Only such things as the stern and unrelenting mandate of grim- 
faced Necessity has compelled us to do. Necessity is an un- 
motherly mother. She has remorselessly abandoned many a 
helpless offspring by the wayside, when the sharp-toothed cause 
that compelled its existence had temporarily set his fangs on 
other’s flesh. The hypocritical devotees at her shrine and in 
her name have committed every offense in the criminal code 
times innumerable. 

“Our most laboriously produced inventions have always 
been the instruments of warfare. We learned to tan leather 
away back yonder. Why don’t we learn to make it, and be as 
wise as the ox? I’ll answer: We’ve never tried. We send 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


125 


electric messages in iron wire. Why not in the ocean or the 
air? WeVe never tried. Why don’t we gather solar heat in 
summer and store it up the same as we gather ice in winter? 
Same answer: WeVe never tried. Think of the prodigious 
electric energy in the ebb and flow of the tide — all lost; and 
the ‘wind bloweth where it listeth.’ The little ill-humored bee 
takes the honey out of the blossom, it doesnT put it in. The 
sluggish silk-worm manufactures his fine fabrics from the 
mulberry-leaf; he doesn’t create the leaf. Are the bees and 
the worms superior artisans to the kings of creation? All who 
believe they are will please say ‘Aye’; contrary, ‘No.’ The 
‘Nos’ have it. 

“I tell you, boys, we’ve only cat-scratched the high places 
of Nature’s virgin-dimpled resources. The common privilege 
of humanity is to make, have, use, and enjoy anything that adds 
to the stock of our agreeable sensations or subtracts from the 
sum total of all pains. The word impossible only applies to the 
non-essentials, the unimportants, and to nothing else. No es- 
sentiality can long remain an impossibility. Earth’s physical 
and mental bombardiers will batter down its seemingly im- 
pregnable walls like our friend Mace did the big zinc spider 
which his efforts turned into gold. I earnestly believe the only 
key that will ever unlock these essentials and all of them is 
couched and wadded in the one little word try; and I further 
honestly believe the only way to induce all and everybody to 
try, and try their dead level best, is to tell the young folks in 
time what the game is they are about to sit in. Don’t tell them 
that there will be ten months of the calendar winter and the 
other two months way late in the fall — that’s above the limit; 
but do all to early fix in the mind of childhood the fact that 
they’ll be on ‘Jordan’s stormy banks’ about as often as on 
‘flowery beds of ease.’ ” 


126 


MELVIN MACE; 


‘‘Squire” McGuire, who was not set down for a speech, 
said in part : 

“I certainly favor anniversaries and holidays; the more 
holidays the better with me, for I am trying hard eight hours a 
day and some overtime to wean myself of the work habit,” he 
began. ‘‘They furnish an opportunity for us old wheel-horses 
to catch a good breath, look about, and take stock. It occurs 
to me in late years that 'most every man I meet is running 
with all his physical power to catch some dollar-a-mile hearse, 
for fear he'll not get a front seat in eternity, and especially is 
this true since high speed is the only way to get money. How- 
ever, I don't want to be understood as being opposed to money 
or its influence honestly and fairly exercised; money is corn to 
me, meat and bread both. I 've heard often that com would 
not fatten a horse, and that money doesn't bring happiness. 
Now, I never could fatten a horse without corn, and never have 
a good time without money; some people may, but not I. It 
took cash to procure the good things that have disappeared from 
this board to-night, and it takes cash or its equivalent to get 
all other good things. I have a respect bordering on venera- 
tion for any enterprise that is a decided honest money-maker ; 
and that is the greatest reason I can offer for being here with 
you and celebrating the old Chipmunk. It was a winner, a 
bread - and - butter winner, a mortgage - lifter, a hungry- wolf- 
chaser; it clothed and fed more people, bought more books and 
papers, and built more homes than any other mine ever did in 
this district, or ever will until some future ‘ good boy ' evolves a 
method of getting the zinc ores from the way-down-deep region 
that we now dream of, but as yet cannot reach, and that old 
hammer-headed, distorted-featured lad, ugly enough to freeze 
his own sweat, will be here in time and he'll deliver the goods; 
with his process, future prospectors will go down hereabouts a 
thousand feet below the Chipmunk’s lowest stope, and they 'll 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


127 


hoist zinc enough to galvanize everything in sight. (Applause.) 

''And I hope to see many recurrences of this night. Let’s 
meet once a year as long as there are two of us left. And when 
indigestion, booze, and Providence have planted us for keeps, 
I trust this community will long remember that we were Chip- 
munkers and looked every man square in the face.” 

The orchestra then played "Down Went McGinty,” 
"Sweet Violets,” and " Dem Golden Slippers.^’ A little bit old, 
but very suggestive and in keeping with McGuire’s remarks. 

Mace declined to respond, but, after repeated calls from the 
banqueters, said that his public speeches had always been de- 
livered by proxy; that young Tarver would represent both of 
them on that occasion. Howe said that, as the hour was late, 
he would also draft Mr. Tarver to fill his place, so he could 
speak for the three of them. 

Mr. Tarver said in part: 

'' Ladies y Mr, Chairman , and Gentlemen: It delights me to 
raise my voice in praise of that portion of our people whose 
efforts add continuously to the world’s supply of metals and 
mineral fuels. The farmer has representatives in the legislat- 
ures of every State and Territory in this Union and in both 
houses of our national Congress, and even in the presiden- 
tial chair. The transportation corporations have their large- 
minded men on hand at all times and in all places to see that 
their interests are safeguarded to the uttermost. The manu- 
facturer, the banker, the bond-holder, and the merchant are 
active and alert to see that they and each of them get what is 
coming, and more if possible. But nowhere in society, in leg- 
islation, in litigation, or in high walks of life was the miner ever 
fully and fairly treated or divided with. A common soldier — 
yes, sometimes a very common one, is lauded to the high plane 
of an 'Abou Ben Adhem’ because perchance he has helped 
massacre a lot of unfortunate poor whom we are pleased to call 


128 


MELVIN MACE; 


for the time being ‘the enemy/ So I say the world's greatest 
benefactors have ever been neglected, not only in poetry and 
in song, but in the priceless jewel they and every one of them 
have so abundantly deserved — our sublimest thankfulness. 
The men who go down into the layers of this earth and find the 
minerals and valuable fossils therein imprisoned, bringing them 
out in one hand and their lives as it were in the other, with 
greater danger and more risk to health and happiness than any 
other vocation among all the gainful occupations — that class of 
citizens deserve at our hands the greatest degree of gratitude. 

“The world has lavishly showered its many gifts and much 
good will on almost every class except the miner; he who has 
added most to our enduring wealth is least thought of, less re- 
membered, and still less paid. This manner of affairs should 
be reversed, a popular repentance brought about, and all go in 
an opposite direction. 

“To me the Chipmunk Mine is a fiction, a hearsay; to you, 
the owners and employees, it is a fadeless memory, a flowering 
garden to enduring prosperity, ‘as rivers of water in a dry 
place, the shadow of a great rock in a weary land.' 

“The legislative department of our Government should be 
besieged so persistently and continuously by an all-together 
effort of miners and their friends that it would create at Wash- 
ington a Department of Mines and Mining, the head of which 
should be a member of the President's cabinet." 

The secretary was instructed to make a roster of the Chip- 
munkers, their places of abode, and all necessary facts in and 
about the perpetuity of the organization. 


HECK BRUCE 











A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


131 


CHAPTER XVI. 

In their early native simplicity, the sons of men quar- 
reled, fought, and killed; History whispers in our ears their 
annals in chapters short and bloody; but modern competitive 
ingenuity has brought forth another and more prolix mode of 
human contestation — the lawsuit. The quarrel, the dispute, 
the brawl, and the battle, in the by-gone days of our ancestors, 
must of necessity have had their beginnings, prolongations, and 
endings; but latter-day strife between man and man, and some- 
times between man and woman, resembles somewhat the hope 
of immortal glory mentioned in one of the Pauline Letters: 
“The house not made with hands’"; yet, not being '^in the 
heavens,” it certainly has the other qualification, absolutely 
^‘eternal.” 

In the turmoil of earthly controversies, the lawsuit, in 
some form, confronts nearly all of us, and the folks formerly 
connected with the Chipmunk Mine were not immune from its 
virus. Bruce (who, the writer has neglected to say heretofore, 
was unmarried) was the first one whose monetary belongings 
attracted the hope of one of those who strive to persuade the 
courts of our country to apply a poultice of crisp currency to 
their outraged feelings. 

The plaintiff, a buxom widow with rosy lips, sparkling com- 
plexion, apparently honest and complete in every way but one ; 
that defect was her two little beady-black shoe-button eyes. 
It might be well to observe that there are more in some women’s 
eyes than retinas or vision-sense. One poet says : 

There are whole veins of diamonds in women’s eyes, 

Might furnish crowns for all the queens of earth.’* 

But, to face the fact, I must say that if there were or ever had 
been any diamond “ diggings ” in the azure optics of the plaint- 


132 


MELVIN MACE; 


iff, like the south paw of the big Chipmunk Mine, they had 
“pinched out,*’ and for at least three years next before the 
commencement of this suit they were diamondless. One of her 
eyes was not what might be called crossed exactly — it was just 
sprung, bent, cocked up a little, as if surveying everything con- 
tained in the obtuse angle between the horizon and its own ele- 
vated view-plane; the other possessed that pliable attitude we 
denominate adaptability; it was thoroughly adjustable, and 
had focused its glittering pupil on many a fat purse prior to its 
sighting the defendant. She, with an able array of attorneys, 
jumped neck-deep into the court and also the local press with 
a twenty-five-thousand-dollar breach-of-promise case, that gave 
promise of racy developments. 

The papers even printed her petition in full. It showed 
beyond doubt or any kind of guesswork that Bruce had prom- 
ised over and often to take the little patient sufferer to some- 
one having the lawful authority and there say and have said 
the gluing sentences that would unite the twain in the bonds 
of bliss, from which modern society is not extracting the de- 
gree of felicity that is indicated by the labels and bottles. Ten 
thousand tongues wagged freely; pros and cons were in the air, 
on every corner and at every crossing. Women’s clubs dis- 
cussed it; the Sunday morning sermons alluded to it; real- 
estate agents eagerly sought the acquaintance of the widow, 
with an eye to business, and her credit at the stores was at once 
established, for a big compromise was looked for, with a “dig- 
nified sum” for a consideration. 

“ Of course he won’t let it go to trial — never, never ! Why, 
hasn’t he taken her out to the theaters and meetin’-houses, and 
hasn’t he been a ‘star boarder’ at her house for months and 
months?” 

“Good enough for him,” continued another. 

“That is just what law and courts are for — to make people 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


133 


do what they agree to or pay the damages, and she’ll get a 
chunk of Heck Bruce’s coin that will make it easy for him to 
count and carry the rest.” 

” That ’s exactly where I ’ve always stood,” said another old 
wiseacre, as he hobbled across the street to the ” House of Com- 
mons” to get a little medical substance to remove freckles. 

” Yes, sir ! Make a man’s word as good as his bond — that ’s 
me. Thank God, I’ll never be on the jury, for I’ve formed an 
opinion, and expressed it too; and if that ain’t enough, by 
thunder! I’ll send it to ’em by freight. Sure he promised to 
marry her. Did you see what was in The Pick and Shovel and 
The Messmate this mornin’ ? Do you suppose for a holy minute 
that Colonel McAllcash and Judge Relieveyou and — what’s the 
feller’s name that’s in with them? Let me see. Oh, pshaw! 
I had it right on the point of my tongue. Smith, Suite, Stith — 
no, that ain’t it. Well, ’tenerate, he’s a fine-looker and adds 
weight and dignity to the firm. They’d never ’a^ brung that 
case ’thout they had a cinch.” This kind of jaw-bone was 
what many husbands had to hear, before, during, and after 
their meals. 

A completely misinformed public seldom knows when and 
where to cast anchor, and, drifting along the dangerous channel 
of popular sympathy, it not infrequently loses many of its most 
valued members, who see the error of their ways and desert the 
rudderless old hull in time to avoid the final crash, that in the 
end must overtake all error. These vanguards of civilization, 
day-dreamers and cranks, are the ones who unclasp the strong- 
hooped books of reason and take the clamps off the wheels of 
progress. Thus a small rift was gradually developing in local 
sentiment, which began to show symptoms of increase; but a 
decided majority of the district was unalterably for the fair 
plaintiff. 

Now, while this sensational straw was being threshed in the 


134 


MELVIN MACE; 


popular mind, court came on apace, as courts are wont to do; 
the Circuit Court, the court of common law and equity juris- 
diction; the law’s hopper, into which the people pour their 
grist of grievances, pay a big toll, and take away their grief ; the 
crusher and rolls that pulverize the refractory ore-bearing 
stones and give value to their metallic substances. Cases 
after cases were called, continued, stipulated, dismissed, went 
over for the term, demurred to or tried; finally the case of Van 
Noggle against Bruce was called, and both sides answered, 
“Ready.’’ After the usual amount of picket-line skirmishing, a 
jury of twelve men “good and true” were sworn to “well and 
truly try the issues between the plaintiff and defendant and a 
verdict render according to the law and evidence,” et ccBtera. 

It is wholly impossible at this late date for the writer to 
make from memory an abstract of the record, or even an ap- 
proximately correct transcript of the proceedings had in this 
case; but some of its noticeable features are so deeply furrowed 
in memory that quite an amount of them will be related. After 
reading the petition, which charged everything chargeable 
and claimed all things claimable. Judge Relieveyou made the 
opening statement to the jury in behalf of the plaintiff. 

He said he realized to the fullest extent the grave, solemn, 
weighty, and momentous duty devolved upon him and his 
co-counselors in the arduous preparation and trial of this im- 
portant case; important not alone to his client, her relatives, 
friends, a^id attorneys, but of the supremest importance to 
each and every citizen in the whole country, whatever his or 
her station in life might be, however high or low, from the 
shiftless hobo to the most lordly citizen in all the land; each, 
all, and every one had a sociological, just, and indefeasible in- 
terest, in fee simple, in the correct, lawful, and fair termination 
of this controversy. 

“Now, if the court please,” said Mr. Howe, defendant’s 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


135 


attorney, ‘'I object to the language of plaintiff’s counsel. 
First, for the reason that this is not a criminal nor a quasi- 
criminal case, nor is the whole country interested in its termina- 
tion; and secondly, for the reason that counsel for plaintiff is 
out of the record in stating things that are wholly inadmissible 
at this time, and never will be received, allowed, or admitted 
in evidence at this trial. Let him tell what he expects to prove 
and will be allowed to prove ; that, and that only, is all that he 
can be allowed to allude to in his opening remarks to this jury.” 

The Court: ‘'The objection is sustained. Gentlemen, 
please confine your remarks in this case to what you expect 
to prove.” 

Continuing, Judge Relieveyou said: “Gentlemen, we ex- 
pect to show you by direct testimony that Heck Bruce has made 
promises of marriage to the plaintiff in this case which he 
is bound in honor, conscience, and law to fulfill, or pay the 
damages she has sustained by reason of his non-fulfillment; it 
will be in testimony from the lips of plaintiff, and from other 
unimpeachable sources, that Bruce has repeatedly promised to 
marry her; that on two, if not three, occasions the day was set, 
fixed, and agreed upon for the wedding, and each time it was 
postponed at his request; that he had her write letters to her 
relatives and friends, telling them of her approaching marriage, 
and as a final wind-up of the whole affair, he went to St. Louis 
and remained there or somewhere for ten days or two weeks, 
not even condescending to write his intended bride a line 
telling her his whereabouts or his intentions. Now, gentlemen, 
if we show you these things and convince you that they are true, 
which I am more than confident we will do, then it will be your 
plain duty, under your oaths and under the instructions that 
will be given you by the judge of this court, to find a verdict for 
the plaintiff in any sum not to exceed twenty-five thousand 
dollars.” 


136 


MELVIN MACE; 


Mr. Howe, of counsel for the defendant, then told the jury 
what he expected to prove as a defense to the suit. “Oxu: de- 
fense, gentlemen,’' said he, will be a plain, straight, unvar- 
nished denial of every allegation in plaintiff’s petition con- 
tained. Mr. Bruce will contradict, under oath and publicly 
on this witness-stand, every assertion, every declaration, and 
every affirmation in her petition. It is not meet at this time 
for me to say by whom and through what agencies we will make 
this defense; suffice it to say that it will be made, and made 
along the lines I have told you — an unqualified denial. Mr. 
Bruce’s testimony will be corroborated by a chain of circum- 
stances, every link, hook, and swivel of which he is willing that 
a jury of his neighbors may test to their content. It is needless 
to state that we ask your united attention. I hope that every 
eye will be watchful and vigilant, every ear active and alert, 
and every man on this jury do his best to render a just and 
righteous verdict for the right party in this contention.” 

The weather was dry and sultry, the court-house packed 
full; the populace were still trying the case, as they had been 
ever since it found lodgment in the office of the clerk of the 
Circuit Court, and now they were reinforced by the newspapers 
(which, of course, were excluded from the jury). The plaintiff’s 
evidence was given with extraordinary skill; as a brief history 
of a concrete and continuous little love-affair, it was a master- 
piece. Howe objected frequently during the first part of her 
examination to what lawyers are pleased to call inadmissible, 
irrelevant, immaterial, suggestive, and leading questions; some- 
times sustained, often overruled by the court; finally his vigil- 
ance slackened. “Let it all come in,” he said to plaintiff’s 
attorney; “we’ll not stint, weigh, or measure anything; we’ll 
just lump it off. She wants to tell it so bad that it looks sinful 
to stop her. Tie a Frenchman’s hands and he cannot talk; 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


137 


but when that woman's tongue is well tied, there'll be a long 
line of vehicles going slow behind her." 

While her examination-in-chief was a capital performance, 
it may well be said that on cross-examination she stood as did 
the men of General Thomas Jonathan Jackson at the crest of Bull 
Run Hill, Virginia, on that memorable July morning in i86i, 
a veritable “ stone wall,^’ under a cross-fire that lasted for hours 
and hours. She rehearsed in detail the many conversations, the 
long railroad trips, the Sunday afternoon rides, church - going, 
theater-going, and almost everything that Bruce had said to 
her in the two or three years prior to the commencement of this 
action. Not a stage-setting or property was left out — ham- 
mocks, sofas, davenports, double settees, and such; not once 
did she falter, have tongue-failure, or forgetitis (a convenient 
disease, often contracted on the witness-stand). She also re- 
membered that she had been married twice, but had disgreed 
with both her husbands ; was an actress when she left the two ; 
had been the owner of a show on the road, but failed. 

The most material element in many a lawsuit is the wit- 
nesses ' inability to recollect on cross-examination, and many 
are the lawyers whose energies have been exhausted and the 
consuming powers of time have written wrinkles in their rosy 
cheeks and changed the lustrous locks of their youth to the 
snowy crowns of old age trying to get witnesses say to something 
other than “I can't recollect," “I don't remember"; and the 
wonder is why Justice, symbolized by the blindfolded goddess 
with scales and sword, has permitted witnesses on cross- 
examination to criple and stultify our system of judicature 
from behind fortifications of an assumed faulty memory. If 
all the important things that a witness cannot remember on 
cross-examination were added together and their total sub- 
tracted from the unimportant ones that he did remember in 
his direct testimony, and that sum divided by the number of 


138 


MELVIN MACE; 


jurors trying the cause, with a twenty-five per cent discount 
for wear, tear, cooperage, and self-interest also deducted, the 
power of determining justice in legal trials would be immeas- 
urably augmented. 

The above digressive suggestion applies in full force to the 
array of witnesses introduced by plaintiff. They either know 
too much or too little in their direct examination, or on cross- 
examination they could not recollect. There were two expert 
doctors, or doctor-experts — the reader may adopt whichever 
term sounds best; I fear that neither will contribute very 
abundantly towards a lasting rhetorical bouquet. There were 
three or four lady friends, one very pretty girl, one hotel-keeper 
(a Yankee), two colored porters, two cab-drivers, one livery- 
man, one policeman, one preacher, one promoter, and Blinkins, 
president and general manager of the Home Detective Agency ; 
he who, as custodian of the public morals and constable of the 
township, had prosecuted “Monkey-wrench” and had lost the 
case, a long time ago. 

Blinkins was a deep-dyed, up-to-date stinkard — a grafter, 
liar, villain, thief, through and through, up and down, across 
and back; and with all of this and these, he had less virtue 
than a barnyard fowl, and would stick a friend or foe day or 
night for a very little piece of money. There are a great many 
detectives. There are a great, great many Blinkinses. The 
Burrelson family, of Texas, is said to be the largest in the 
United States — about twelve hundred voters of the direct and 
collateral kindred, and good, honorable people ; but numerically 
they merit no comparison with the Blinkinses. After these and 
two or three other off-suit witnesses, and the reading of three 
or four depositions from Peoria, or Boozetown, Illinois, the 
plaintiff rested her case. 

Maybe we had better go back a few stations and inspect 
the track and road-bed over which plaintiff’s train of witnesses 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


139 


had traveled. The pretty-girl witness before mentioned didn’t 
know Bruce, had only seen him once, and that was in the 
night-time and his back toward her. She was evidently intro- 
duced for effect, and certain it is she did the part well ; a tall, 
unassuming, cheerful brunette, neatly dressed, with a mesmeric 
voice, blooming, lovable, peachy, two rows of partly exposed 
pearly teeth intensified in grace by their carnation-lipped en- 
closure, glowing as the noon sunshine, dimple-set, rose-tinted 
cheeks that speak the language of every age and every tongue 
and breathes into the very ego of every man the same thought, 
the same desire, the same hope, the same nameless longing 
that filled Maud Muller’s breast and yours and mine, a longing 
that will not shorten, a hope that will not blight, a desire that 
never comes to nought, and a burning and feverish thought 
that nothing can ever stop except a stiff kiss. 

The doctors knew that defendant acted as the man of the 
house at plaintiff’s home, and also paid them something like 
three hundred dollars for an operation the previous summer on 
plaintiff’s little daughter for appendicitis, a fake that had then 
supplanted the tapeworm graft on account of its aristocratic 
origin and the price of the goods, but, fortunately for humanity, 
only held the boards a few years and was rapidly overthrown 
by other itisesy germs, microbes, and ptomaine poisoning. It 
may be possible that General Sherman was thinking about 
medicinal quackery when he defined war. 

The three lady friends of the plaintiff were what is known 
in court-house parlance as “character witnesses.” When their 
testimony was all in, Mrs. Van Noggle’s deportment and chas- 
tity, on a scale of one hundred, would have averaged about 
ninety and nine and then some. Mace told a little crowd that 
night, who were in a game of high five, that their testimony 
reminded him of a promotor friend of his, who the year before 
was booming a health resort in Colorado, known as the original 


140 


MELVIN MACE; 


‘^fountain of youth^’ springs. ran on to him,” Mace con- 
tinued, ‘'one day last summer in Kansas City. He said: 
‘Melwin, I will put every drug store in a thousand miles of me 
on the bum before three years; I can beat ^em an open mile 
and hold up my best foot. There^s no sickness that my springs 
won’t cure, and do it quick. A patient don’t have to blow in a 
good mine, or a farm, nor stay half a life-time either — in four or 
five weeks we’ll renovate any old rounder and make him 
better *n he ever was. Why, the Rocky Mountain dope stores 
and doctors can read their doom in the countenances of my 
patients going home from the springs; they have jobbed me, or 
tried to — sent a number of their so-called incurables, even went 
to Chicago and got the worst old fiend alive and sent her out. 
Oh my! cocaine, morphine, ether, chloroform, chloral, and all 
other drug dopes. ‘Did your spring water do her any good?’ 
said I. ‘Did it do her any good?’ he continued. ‘Well, I 
should remark. In less than five weeks she left the springs a 
spotless virgin.’ ” 

The colored porters, the cab-drivers, and the liverymen 
knew nothing about a promise of marriage between the parties 
litigant; the policeman, preacher, and promoter were not intro- 
duced. It was never quite clear why these three were left out, 
but strange things happen in love and war, and the case on trial 
savored of both. The hotel-keeper did all he could for the 
plaintiff, but on cross-examination he too fell to forgetting, 
and in the final show-down his forgettings and rememberings 
just about broke even. 

Going down stairs that noon, Bruce said to Howe: “That 
damn Yankee has been mad at me for years, because I said he 
had a prize strain of Plymouth Rock bed-bugs in his old 
bunkery.’’ 

Blinkins, the captain, mate, pilot, and deck-hands of the 
Home Detective Agency, was an indispensable witness for the 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


141 


plaintiff. He testified that he had stayed all night once the 
summer previous at plaintiff’s boarding-house, and had over- 
heard a conversation between her and Bruce, in which Bruce 
had promised to marry her; it was like this: 

Answer: ‘'Yes, sir; I was as wide awake then as we both 
are now.” 

Questions by Mr, Howe: 

Q. “Did you retire early that night?” 

A. “No, sir; not until after the show.” 

Q. “What show?” 

A. “I don’t remember the name, but it was a 
railroad circus.” 

Q. “Did you go?” 

A. “Yes, sir.” 

Q. “Did Bruce and Mrs. Van Noggle go?” 

A. ^^I think they did.” 

Q. “Now what time that night did the conver- 
sation take place between plaintiff and defendant, in 
which he promised to marry her, and in what part of 
her house?” 

A. “I think about eleven o’clock, and the talk 
was made in her parlor and the alcove adjoining it.” 

Q. “ Did you hear all the conversation?” 

A. “Yes, sir; I never went to sleep until a long 
time after Bruce went upstairs to his room.” 

Q. “Where were you when you heard the con- 
versation?” 

A. “ What conversation ? ’ ’ 

Howe: “The only conversation we are talking 
about and the one you told of in your examination-in- 
chief this morning.” 

A. “Me, I was in the bed-room next to the 
parlor.” 


142 


MELVIN MACE; 


Q. ‘'Did anyone else occupy the room with 
you?’^ 

A. “No, sir/* 

Q. “Now, you please tell this jury all the con- 
versationthat you heard that night — and you say 
you heard it all — ^between plaintiff and defendant.*’ 

A. “Well, as I said this morning, I came in 
about eleven o’clock. It was very warm; I raised the 
transom between my bed-room and the parlor; in a 
few minutes Mr. Bruce and Mrs. Van Noggle came in 
and commenced to talk; Bruce said that if they were 
ever going to marry, he thought it was about time. 
She said something about getting ready. He rephed 
that he’d been ready for more than a year, and they 
made it up to marry the next week in Carthage and go 
to Denver on a wedding-trip*” 

Q. “Well, what else did they say?” 

A. ‘^That’s about all I heard.” 

Q. ‘ ‘ Were you sober ? ’ ’ 

A. “Yes, sir; I don’t drink.” 

Q. “ Do you ever drink ? ’ ’ 

A. “No, sir; I never do. I’ve no use for liquor 
or anyone who drinks it.” 

Q. “Now, Mr. Blinkins, I’ll ask you if you 
have any interest in the termination of this suit?” 

A. “No, sir, none on earth.” 

Q. “Did you ever talk to Mrs. Van Noggle 
about it?” 

A. “Yes, sir.” 

Q. “When?” 

A. “About a week or ten days after she 
brought the suit.” 

Q. “Where did you have the talk with her?” 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


143 


A. “At her home.” 

Q. “Did she send for you to come and see 
her about this case?” 

A. “ I don’t remember whether she did or not.” 

Q. “Well, how did you come to be there? did 
you volunteer your services?” 

A. “I don’t recollect whether I did or not.” 

Q. “Did you ever tell anybody about hear- 
ing this conversation between plaintiff and defend- 
ant?” 

A. “No, sir — not until suit had been brought.” 

Q. ‘ ‘ Who did you tell then ? ’ ’ 

A. “Oh, I don’t know who all; I talked with 
lots of people about it.” 

Q. “Well, name some of them.” 

A. “I can’t remember who all they were.” 

Q. “Then name one of them.” 

A. “Well, I talked with McGuire about it.” 

Q. “You mean ‘Squire’ McGuire?” 

A. “Yes, sir.” 

Q. ‘ ‘ Where is McGuire now ? ’ ’ 

A. “I think he’s prospecting in Arizona.” 

Bruce whispered something to Howe. 

Q. “You’re a good friend of McGuire?” 

A. “Oh! yes — as far as I know.” 

Q. “Did you talk with him many times about 
this breach of promise case?” 

A. “No, not often.” 

Q. “How long has Mr. McGuire been out 
West?” 

A. “About two years.” 

Bruce, who showed signs of intoxication, was sworn and 
took the stand in his own behalf ; he contradicted nearly every- 


144 


MELVIN MACE; 


thing that the plaintiff testified to. In regard to her alleged 
marriage contract or agreement, he said that no such talk was 
ever had between them; said he had repeatedly told her he 
wouldn’t marry the best woman on earth under any conceiv- 
able circumstances, and if he had to do so or go to his grave, he 
wouldn’t be as long making up his mind which he’d do as a flash 
of lightning would lie on a limb, and that nothing within the 
confines of reality or the realms of imagination could ever induce 
him to reconsider that resolution; said he had often told the 
plaintiff what he was then telling the jury; that she understood 
his position perfectly; he also testified that he had boarded at her 
house, in all, about thirty months; paid her forty dollars per 
month; had given her a piano and paid a five-hundred-dollar 
drug and doctor bill for her little daughter; besides, he had 
loaned her about eight hundred dollars, which he regarded as a 
permanent investment. He refused to let her have one hundred 
and a half ten days before suit was brought. She hadn’t paid 
the eight hundred dollars or any part of it, and never intended 
to, although she said she would and gave him her promissory 
notes for that amount, and if it wore out, she’d give him 
another one. He met her first in a grocery store, where he 
bought cigars; she asked him to board with her; said she 
needed the money; he never took her to the circus as Blinkins 
said he did; he remembered well that he was drunk that night 
and didn’t go. Had two free tickets the advance agent gave 
him for posters on the Seventh Street side of the shop, but he 
gave them to Ike, his helper; said he never slept at plaintiff’s 
house while he boarded there, or any other time, but slept 
upstairs over his shop. Said this was the first case he ever had 
in court; admitted he was worth over four hundred thousand 
dollars. 

His cross-examination was carried to some length; Bruce 
answered only the interrogatories whose answers he knew 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


145 


were the whole truth and nothing but the truth, never volun- 
teering any information or explanation unless it was indis- 
pensably necessary. 

Ike, the helper, then testified for the defendant; he re- 
membered that Bruce gave him complimentary circus tickets; 
that he and an acquaintance went to the show at night; that 
Bruce was pretty well organized (drunk) before show-time and 
by no means sober next morning; said he knew the reputation 
of Bruce in the neighborhood where he lived for truth and 
veracity; that it was good. It was brought out in his cross- 
examination that plaintiff came to the shop to see Bruce 
several times, getting money from him. When Bruce was out, 
she seldom spoke to witness ; he said that suited him first rate ; 
he had no more use for her than a Comanche Indian had for 
the President's message; admitted it had been his supreme 
delight to let her know on several occasions that she didn’t 
look good to him. 

Five prominent citizens were next introduced — two miners, 
one banker, one merchant, and one farmer, all of whom testified 
that Bruce’s reputation for truth and veracity in the community 
where he had lived continuously for more than twenty years 
was good; after which the defendant rested his case. 

The court gave three instructions to the jury — one for the 
plaintiff, one for the defendant, and one of its own motion. 

They read something like the following : 

For the Plaintif. 

“The court instructs the jury that if you find and believe 
from all the evidence in this case that Heck Bruce, the de- 
fendant, promised and agreed to and with the plaintiff, at any 
time within three years next before the beginning of this suit, 
that he would marry her, according to the laws of this State to 
make her his lawfully wedded wife, and that plaintiff was 


146 


MELVIN MACE; 


willing to marry defendant at that time and has ever since been 
and is now willing so to do, and that afterwards he, the said 
defendant, failed and refused to marry her and still fails and 
refuses so to do, then your verdict should be for the plaintiff, 
and her damages should be assessed by you in any sum not to 
exceed twenty-five thousand dollars/* 

For the Defendant. 

“The jury is instructed that unless you find and believe 
from all the evidence in this case that Heck Bruce, the de- 
fendant, promised and agreed to marry plaintiff at any time 
within three years next before the commencement of this suit, 
then your verdict should be for the defendant.** 

By the Court. 

“The jury is instructed that you are the sole judges of all 
the testimony in this case, and in determining the weight and 
credibility that should be given to any witness, you have a 
right to take into consideration his or her interest, if any, in 
said case, his or her demeanor, conduct, and manner in testi- 
fying, and if you believe that any witness has sworn falsely to 
any one material fact in issue, then you have the right to reject 
the whole or any part of such witness* testimony.** 

One hoiu* was allowed by the court to each side, in which 
to argue the case. 

Judge Relieveyou, who had made the opening statement 
at the beginning of the trial, consumed one-half hour, followed 
by Mr. Howe, for the defendant ; one hour after which Colonel 
Me Allcash closed the case. 

Plaintiff*s attorney sought to produce the impression on 
the minds of the jurors that all the circumstances in the case 
corroborated Mrs. Van Noggle*s testimony; that the defendant 
was a drunken old saloon bum, wholly unreliable; that he fixed 
and made future dates in which to get drunk, and religiously 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


147 


kept his appointments; it was in evidence from his own lips 
that he was drunk, and substantiated by the evidence of his 
own witnesses. ‘'Day and night and night and day,*' con- 
tinued Judge Relieveyou, “Bruce has been tanked up for years 
and years ; he admits it, almost boasts of it, and brings in his 
drunken and debauched condition to prove an alibi. Will you, 
gentlemen of this jury, upon your sacred honors, under your 
oaths as members of this court, the only bulwark of all the 
people, the last and only screen and shelter to protect the weak 
and expose the vile and vicious — I say, will you consider such 
clumsy, benumbed, stupid, torpid, and unreliable testimony 
and set it up against her, whose every word is in and of itself 
truth personified, whose character, habits, person, and constitu- 
tion are so morally governed that she could not swear falsely 
if she would? No, no! Ten thousand times no! She couldn’t 
perjure herself in this or any other case.” 

Howe confined his argument in the main to the issues 
joined in the pleadings; step by step he classified, analyzed, 
examined; his sole aim, he said, was to help the jury bundle and 
basket up the perjury that had been committed at this trial and 
lay its illegitimate carcass in broad daylight on the doorstep 
where it originated, so that the shameless little offspring of 
contradictions could be located and identified. 

“All sensible men, all honest men, all reasonable men must 
admit that some one or more of these witnesses have committed 
willful, deliberate, and unqualified perjury; that perjurious 
testimony has been lugged into this case is uncontradictable ; 
such a contention would not be entitled to the charity of a 
passing doubt; the most mentally weak and feeble-minded per- 
sons that breathe would know at a glance that all this testimony 
is not true; it can not be true. Some — yea, much of it is false. 
I say it is too indefinite, thin, vague, and forceless to denom- 


148 


MELVIN MACE; 


inate it perjury, a false-swearing, and such easy, mild, gentle, 
and undreaded terms. I say in unison with counsel for plaint- 
iff, ‘ No, ten thousand times no ! * Far better call such slop and 
smut by its true, unmistakable American name; that's much 
easier to spell and pronounce than perjury, 

“Gentlemen of the jury, let's see, if possible, who or which 
one is guilty of this wrong-doing, this long-range, reckless, and 
negligent swearing; let's try them with finer eyes. Maybe 
we can discern the side upon which is corded up the greatest 
amount of self-interest; if so, then it follows that most truth 
will be found in the other end of the scale. Going back three 
short years of their respective biographies, we find an unac- 
quainted man and woman thrown together by haphazard, met 
by mere accident at a grocery store where he bought his cigars — 
and there's no evidence that he didn't pay for them; the first 
thing that dawned upon her resourceful intellectuality was to 
ask this old man a favor. 

“ 'Come board at my house.' 

“ 'How much?' 

'' 'Ten dollars a week.' 

'' 'Pretty high, but I'll be there.' 

'' 'Do you want a room and bed?' 

'' 'No; I sleep upstairs at my shop, get drunk occasionally, 
as opportunity offers, and don't like to bother people when I 'm 
drinking." 

''He's not a total abstainer like Blinkins, the trusted 
guardian of a nation's welfare; Blinkins, president, vice-presi- 
dent, treasurer, secretary, solicitor, and general manager of the 
Home Detective Agency, an institution that has been so pro- 
lific of results in all our States when spelled r-e-w-a-r-d-s — the 
same number of letters, but not all the same kind. Yes, he gets 
drunk, good and drunk, and does something else, too, besides 
getting drunk — he tells the truth. There is an old home-made 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


149 


proverb which says that ' children, fools, and drunken men tell 
the truth'; gentlemen, that's a common fact — a valuable 
maxim of wisdom. As much as I revere sobriety, as much as I 
advocate temperance, as much as I love habitual soberness, 
still I am compelled to confess that there 's a gallon of clean and 
unadulterated truth in every quart of good whisky when 
properly rationed out. 

“ It has been said that a very meddlesome would-be states- 
man once informed our first assassinated President that one of 
his generals had been about half-drunk during a long and suc- 
cessful campaign. ‘Ah! too bad, too bad!' replied Mr. Lincoln. 
‘Something must be done; therefore I will at once appoint you 
envoy extraordinary and minister plenipotentiary to ascertain 
the brand of whisky General Grant has been drinking for the 
last six months or more. I want to send him ten barrels of it.' 

“Sobriety is a wonderfully good thing, but it's like salt, it 
isn't good by itself. Prohibition may be a good thing, but it's 
never been tried. Sobriety coupled with only a self-appointed 
and self-anointed private detective is not entitled to a pinnacle- 
place in our admiration. 

“What next? He paid her in round numbers twelve hun- 
dred dollars for thirty months' board, gave her a piano, paid a 
drug and doctor bill of five hundred dollars, and loaned her 
eight hundred dollars on her notes. On her notes — think of 
that, gentlemen. You know full well those notes are waste 
paper and all her talk about paying them is idle bombast. 
Again, does his conduct look like that of a promise-breaker? 
Do men guilty of breach in their promises lavishly bestow gifts 
upon those with whom they break faith? I think not, and I 
think that you think not. 

♦ ***♦****♦ 

“Gentlemen, do you believe candidly, way down in your 
hearts, that plaintiff wants to marry this defendant, this 


150 


MELVIN MACE; 


drunken old man nearing his alloted threescore and ten years? 
Has Master Cupid, the denuded little love-maker, lingered 
about the smouldering embers of the forge at defendant’s shop 
till ‘ the wee small hours of the night ’ and then let fly his keen 
and piercing love-steeped darts in the direction of her boarding- 
house, disturbing her private tranquillity by small punctures of 
the snowy cuticle in the location of her lovely heart? or has 
Puck, that mighty monarch of mirth, glided on angelic wings 
into her elaborately appointed private rooms — paid for with 
defendant’s money — and softly, tenderly, placidly whispered 
thrilling and delightful sentences filled with new-born affection 
into her modest ears? Has she been flim-flammed and hoo- 
dooed by these unmanageable little deities, who are subject to 
arrest at any moment for indecent exposure? Has she been 
beguiled, betrayed, imposed upon, and deceived by these and 
this indescribable something she calls in her petition ‘ outraged 
feelings,’ thrust as a burden upon her, augmenting her stock of 
toubles and tragedies twenty-five thousand dollars’ worth? 
Is it love, pure, old-fashioned, tailor-made love, woven to 
wear, cut to fit, and fadeth not out? or is it a gigantic financial 
opportunity that looms up before her so vividly in the distance? 
Is it love? or is it this [holding up a silver dollar] that she wants 
you, and each of you, to multiply by twenty-five thousand and 
then subtract that sum total from this old man’s money, 
giving the amount to her? She’ll then play a lone hand. 
She’ll do the 'Coal Oil Johnny’ act to a fulsome finish. Is it 
the outbreak of sweet girlish passion that inspired her to sup- 
plicate, implore, and pray for the amount of money mentioned 
in this petition, a soul- absorbing desire for sweet conjugal love, 
requited love that hangs 

‘ About the necks of bottled bliss, 

Whose lips await the famished kiss,' 

or is it an insatiable craving for current coin? Does she mos^ 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


151 


desire a marriage license issued to her and the defendant, or a 
private monetary pipe-line running from his bank account into 
hers, to furnish fuel, fresh fuel, for the furnace of her depleted 
treasury, so she’d have money to burn, so to speak? Does she 
want a marriage certificate? If she does, it should have de- 
tachable coupons, so that when she gets tired of her spouse, 
foot-sore and limb-weary in double harnness, she can cut off a 
little divorcette and be as single and unmarried as in the days of 
her rubber rings and rattle-boxes. She has two husbands run- 
ning at large now, and wants another one perhaps. She has 
tried hard to get one, failed, and now wants a bounty on account 
of that failure — not from the State or Nation, but from a pri- 
vate citizen, who owes her nothing — less than nothing. A man 
who never before had a case in court, although worth more than 
half a million dollars; a man who has always compromised his 
differences where it could be done with honor, but in a suit for 
breach of promise, where the promise was never made, any kind 
of compromise is dishonorable. Maybe she wants some good 
angel to stake her to another show on the road, so she can 
pose — pardon my new word, but you and I, gentlemen, have 
as much right to coin words as anyone — so she can pose as 
actorine instead of hashologist. 

'*1 said in my opening statement that I hoped you would, 
at the conclusion of this trial, bring in a just and righteous 
verdict for the right party in this controversy. Let me again 
urge that request. There’s far more in this defense than pas- 
sion, feelings, or sentiment. My contention is not wind — that’s 
on the other side; it is atmospheric wholly. I know that 
plaintiff ’s attorneys are very windy, still I do not believe they 
can stir up a breeze strong enough and stiff enough to blow 
this jury out of its head and off of its feet. I do not believe 


152 MELVIN MACE; 

they can stampede you into a verdict with only sympathy and 
sentiment. 

*****5|c**5|£5|e 

“ I desire, moreover, to be charitable as well as honest, and 
here and now admit and confess that I do not believe plaintiff’s 
lawyers conspired with her to impose a pecuniary penalty upon 
my client. No indeed, I do not. On behalf of them and my- 
self, I absolve them from any such charge. In this, as in a vast 
majority of lawsuits, the attorneys loaded their fowling-pieces 
only with such ammunition as was furnished by the litigants. 
Take this evidence, all of it, as it is, to your jury-rooms, de- 
liberate on it fully, winnow it out, separate the chaff from the 
grain, the false from the true, the forged from the genuine, let 
the unvexed sunshine of a truth-seeking tribunal emit every 
luminous ray possible upon these countercurrents of testimony, 
according to your lights; and when you shall have concluded 
your deliberations, let me again indulge the hope that the result 
of such finding will be a complete vindication, a verdict for 
the defendant.” 

At the conclusion of Howe’s address it was evident that a 
great task lay before anyone who undertook to destroy its in- 
fluence with that jury. This was made more manifest as 
Colonel McAllcash was closing the case, for at least three- 
fourths of the audience left the court-room. The utmost in- 
difference of the jury to what he was saying soon convinced 
the Colonel that the plaintiff had run a slow race. He finished, 
however, with a magniloquent appeal for sympathy, dwelling 
at length upon the sanctity of marriage promises. He made 
one or two futile attempts to refute Howe’s argument, but the 
far-away look of the jurors satisfied him that most of them had 
their minds fully made up one way or the other, and, judging 
from their inattention, the chances were largely in favor of the 
other ; and so the case that had been the all-absorbing topic for 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


153 


days, weeks, and months in the local newspapers, and even in the 
metropolitan dailies, and that had been “hashed and rehashed” 
in the family circles, at clubs, lodges, churches, and on the lips of 
every gossip, had now become so shrivelled up that it required 
small exertion to squeeze it out through the little end of the 
tattler's horn, and deliver it over to a sworn and supposedly 
honest jury, so they could weigh the reasons for and against, 
thus furnishing an illuminative example of the most modern 
methods of the equal and even-handed distribution of justice. 

The jury had not retired ten minutes until Bruce received 
the following telegram : 

“Bisbke, Arizona, July 23, . 

“ If you lose, ask rehearing. New evidence. Let- 
ter follows. McGuire.” 

The condition of local sentiment was well reflected by an 
editorial appearing two days later in The Miners' Messmate, 
This we get from an old copy, and give it verbatim. 

“Monetary Hydrophobia. 

“That we never get too old to learn is a live wire The 
Messmate believes will forever hold its electric current. The 
termination of the first inning in the Van Noggle-Bruce trial 
this morning, after two days and nights deliberation with a 
hung jury (eleven to one for the defendant), again convinces 
us that many games are never out till they are played; like the 
old sister in Connecticut, whose brother, a Universalist min- 
ister from out West, had been convinced by reading from the 
Holy Book itself that all and everybody would ultimately be 
saved, hove a deep sanctimonious sigh and then said : ‘Brother, 
Scripture never sounded that way to me before; it looks like 
you were right about eternal damnation, but I had hoped and 
prayed for better things.' And, although we had tried the case 
two or three times in these columns and always found the 


154 


MELVIN MACE; 


issue for the plaintiff, when it was finally tried according to the 
rules of law and the admissibility of testimony, we had hoped 
that she wouldn’t get a look in; it appears, however, that one 
man on the jury was asleep or heeded not the obligation of his 
oath. Everything now indicates that the whole play was a 
cold-blooded shake-down from billboards to moving pictures, 
with only one thing in view by the plaintiff, to- wit: the in- 
crease of box receipts. She had been playing quite a winning 
little game with old man Bruce and his money, and all of a 
sudden, while her luck was good, desired to remove the limit 
and play her cards hard and high up. 

“We now apologize to our readers as gracefully and peni- 
tently as we have ever learned how for our miscue, and want to 
assure them, one and all, that in the future, when large damage 
suits are instituted in these parts, we will endeavor to keep the 
burden of proof on the plaintiff, where it legally and rightfully 
belongs, until it has been shifted elsewhere by lawful means 
beyond a reasonable doubt. Six months ago, to the ordinary 
newspaper-reader, her petition looked like a sub-clause of the 
Ten Commandments or a meteoric exhalation from the Golden 
Rule; to-day it is invisible to the naked eye and growing 
smaller by such leaps and bounds that, in our opinion, it will 
not have a place or a call on the judge’s bar docket next term 
of court. We are perfectly willing to help pull stumps like we 
did when a boy over on Cream Ridge Farm, but when it comes 
to limb-pulling, we’ll have to ask that our hands be passed up.” 



LEWIS CASS HOWE 

Lawyer 








A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


157 


CHAPTER XVII. 

'*Joy hides behind the solemn eyes 
Of Sorrow in her darkest hours, 

As underneath the snow there lies 
The promise of a thousand flowers.*’ 

Dame Rumor sometimes takes a short afternoon nap, re- 
clining upon the downy divan in the aft of her sumptuously ap- 
pointed launch. In these siestas she is liable to drift far into 
the dangerous and disappointing shoals of Salt River, lose her 
bearings, get the time-card ripped and rent, hither and yon, and 
the dickens is to pave and no pitch hot; but however bad or 
blameworthy her faults, and their name is legion, idleness is 
never catalogued as one of them; asleep or awake, rain or 
shine, cold or hot, in season or out of season, she’s always on 
the go. This was the state of affairs in the early autumn after 
the litigation mentioned in our last chapter. Current events 
had it that Quita Long was about to become the bride of an 
Eastern capitalist, who was a regular caller at the Long mansion, 
and from all surface indications was high man; he and she 
missed nothing along the line of attractions that were going on, 
frequently accompanied by the other daughters and their 
mother. Tarver’s calls began to decrease in number and wane 
in duration, and finally discontinued altogether. He still lived 
with Mace out at Tenttown, as he called it; but since we last 
mentioned him, he had been admitted to practice law, and the 
firm was at this time Howe & Tarver. 

There was no known authority for its truth, but Rumor 
had it that Howe would soon be superseded by another attorney 
in the management of the Long properties; some sort of a 
secret, intangible, and mysterious coldness was growing up that 
was fast developing symptoms from seedtime to harvest; no 


158 


MELVIN MACE; 


cement, concrete, granitoid, or any other glutinous substance 
has ever been manufactured that will prevent this kind of in- 
formation from seeping through it, and, whether going slow as 
the shadow on a sun-dial or at a lightning velocity, it never en- 
counters a non-conductor; the wires may be broken, crossed, or 
snowed under, that doesn’t hinder its flight, for almost any ob- 
ject may be pressed into service as a transmitter — a clothes- 
line, a grape-vine, a wire fence, or any old thing will act as per- 
fectly as a submarine cable. The Chipmunk people were the 
first to know, or pretend to know, that the trouble caldron was 
beginning to simmer, and they also knew it would be the 
sweetest dish on the bill of fare to an envious many, who gulp 
such innutritious morsels with more relish than any meat; 
financial jealousy cuts no small figure in this kind of disturbances, 
which always find ready hands and willing tongues to push 
them along; opportunities are seldom missed to give bad 
tidings prominent space and preferential consideration. Mace 
was much exercised on account of the lukewarmness between 
Mrs. Long, her advisers, and Howe. He frequently made it 
convenient to be at the law offices; he, Tarver, and Howe 
would lunch together, and it was no secret with them that busi- 
ness relations between that firm and the Longs would soon 
terminate. 

“I don’t like that one dang little bit,” said Mace one 
Saturday afternoon, as the three were seated in an oyster-house. 
‘‘Mrs. Long should come out boldly and say to your face why 
she don’t want to make the loan. You say the security is well 
worth three times what the owner wants to borrow on it, and 
certainly her cash don’t increase any while on deposit; bankers 
are not breeders of money. She told me a month ago she had 
over twenty thousand dollars in the bank earning nothing, and 
now you say she has turned down that loan. I think this 
Eastern capitalist has hankerings to finger that pie; he wants 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


159 


to get his ice-hooks fastened to some of that Long money, and 
if he does, it's my opinion he'll hold to it like a snapping-turtle 
in a drouth; these ducks in laced boots and corduroy trousers 
playing capitalist with a million dollars behind them, as a rule, 
haven't a cent anywhere else; 'Twouldn't surprise me if he 
marries Quita and incidentally manages the whole cheese. I 
tried my double best more than two years ago to blow our 
friend Tarver here up to a welding heat; it now looks like I've 
lost out. I worked time and a half all summer dinning that 
old ‘faint heart and fair lady' doctrine at him till I got dead 
tired, called for my time, and quit." 

Mace's remarks started a three-cornered conversation, in 
which he and Howe were pitted against Tarver, checkmating, 
flanking, and surrounding every move the boy tried to make. 

“But I think I can show where both of you are in error," 
said Tarver after their talk had warmed up. “I happen not to 
be in the grand-stand business; that is a separate trade of its 
own, same as painting or plumbing, and besides, it 's a vocation 
that everybody can follow. I'm short on red tape and dress 
parade — don't believe I could learn to play to the galleries in a 
thousand years; one must have a congenital abihty for that 
kind of work, or he's no good; it isn't in my makeup. The 
dice won't roll that way for me; I don't care how square they 
are or how fair they're thrown, I can't cover up my imfavora- 
bleness. I was intended in the raw material to be a non- 
magnetized open-face; I have tested and tried my adjustability 
along that line to a fare-you-well, and found that I haven't any. 
The leopard can change his spotted dress-coat as easily as I can 
play a double role; I just must be my own simple self." 

''Simple is the very word to use; nothing better expresses 
it, ' ' rejoined Mace. If we were all so unalterable as you claim 
to be, I can't imagine what in the H would become of the whole 
blooming pack; I believe in set rules of conduct, and am so 


160 


MELVIN MACE; 


governed myself, but there are blasted few things so fixed as 
to preclude changes. There are times when, for diplomacy’s 
sake, I suspend some of my rules, take cautious soundings, and 
go it alone.” 

“And I’m willing to suspend mine too,” replied Tarver; 
“but the day will never dawn that’ll find me on my knees wife- 
hunting; my devotional bumps might favor such a course of 
conduct, but they are in a pestiferous minority; the remainder 
of my make-up would mutiny. That’s what the matter with 
these hypocritical times now, and why the divorce dockets are 
brimfull all the time; young men promise everything from 
Hades to Haw River before they are married, and after that a 
year or so, they both wish to high heaven they had the rice and 
old shoes that friends flung after them.” 

“You’re generalizing,” Howe led off. “Mace’s remarks 
had reference only to one case, the one so near home. It may 
not be my butt-in, for I confess I ’ve set an abominably poor 
example by my own conduct up to date, but I believe if you will 
keep good tab on all the facts, you will find there are as many 
first love miss-matches as any other kind. My shallow ex- 
perience tells me that both parties expect so all-fired much 
after the marriage novelty taste of the bucket wears off a little 
that neither tries to make good, and then comes repudiation 
of ante-nuptial contracts. My friend White says, ‘There are 
more folks married now than have cold grub in the cupboard,’ 
and, by Gosh! there’s more truth than poetry in it. I believe 
the best verdict a young lawyer can possibly win is a good wife 
with a big roll of money ; nineteen out of every twenty of them 
never get a decent library unless they marry it, or hold some 
county office one or two terms. You watch that target with 
both eyes good and strong the remainder of your natural life, 
and see if I haven’t rung the bell nearly every shot. Now, 
there ’s a girl, pretty as an Elberta peach, with more than fifty 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


161 


thousand dollars in her own right, you could have hooked up 
with long ago in a slow walk. If it were to save my life this 
good second, I would not say anything against poverty, or those 
who possess little of this world's goods, but one thing I would 
impress on you and every other young man alive, and that is, a 
rich girl is as sweet as a poor one. We criticise and curse the 
peerage of England for their so-called mercenary matrimonial 
matches, but in the gradation of commercial crimes they cer- 
tainly scale much less than many things we do and laugh by 
them as trifles. You could have gotten her in a slow walk — yes, 
in a hobble." 

"Of course he could," Mace spoke up, before the boy had 
time to reply to Howe; "and I want to re-utter what I have 
told him a score of times before, that the whole Long family 
were dead struck on him and he couldn't or wouldn't see it, one 
of the two. Quita had suitors by the wholesale in the past 
two years, and treated them like step-children all for this boy 
right here [pointing at Tarver], and he just wouldn't follow up 
or close in; says he thinks the whole brimming world full of 
her, and that she is the prettiest thing in shoe-leather, and all 
that sort of talk, but does he tell her? I said a bit ago that I 
had called for my time and quit all this drumming him, but 
that isn’t the proper thing to do ; one should never quit a good 
cause; nothing so tickles evil-doers as the news that reformers 
have stacked arms and laid down; the first aid to graft and 
boodle is the surrender of conscience to caution. No, by the 
eternal Kerplunks, I'll not quit! this is my own hobby-horse 
and I '11 ride him to the track’s end, and in the language of old 
jaw-bone : 

'If he dies. I’ll tan his skin. 

And if he lives. I’ll ride him again.’ ” 

"This lad ought to have his skin tanned for being a 
durned fool," rejoined Howe. "He learns law and literature 


162 


MELVIN MACE; 


all right enough, but my! he's slow about grasping business 
sense. I 've told him more times than he 's got fingers, thumbs, 
and toes that he ought to play his youth, good looks, and soft 
Southern dialect for what they're worth; but there is not 
enough room in a young head for an old brain. True says he's 
afraid the connubial current of bliss has a Niagara Falls in it a 
few miles down stream, and it does in some cases — where a 
shark marries a shirk. We naturally expect surface love to 
lose some good-sized hunks of its gilt and glitter at times; that 
is neither here, there, nor elsewhere. We're talking about you 
and Quita, not grand-standing, red tape, dress parade, or gallery 
plays; they're all imagination. Don't ford the river until you 
come to it; be adjustable anyhow. Don't say, ‘I can't,' or, 
‘I'd fail at that.' Throw those words under a switch engine. 
Every utterance in our language that sounds like ‘can't' ought 
to be expunged from the dictionaries and given a lifetime 
furlough." 

The triangular discourse ended nearly where it began. 
Mace was compelled to attend to some unfinished business up 
town, and Howe's appointment to argue a motion at court, 
which took half the afternoon, left Tarver to hold down the 
office alone. Between clients and Saturday afternoon odds- 
and-ends work in the office the boy indulged in many sober and 
meditative thoughts, some of which may have been suggested 
at lunch. 

‘‘Now, it ’s clearly evident to me," he muttered to himself 
in a half-audible whisper, “that those men wouldn't give me 
any bad advice intentionally. I have as much confidence in 
them as in my own existence; but to save my neck, if it was in 
the hangman's halter and ready for the fall of the trap-door, I 
can't see things as they do. Her, she, Quita, think anything 
of me? How can that be, when she has apparently let that 
chap (old enough to be her father) beat my time? Howe and 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


163 


Uncle Mel don’t know that; they both think my want of 
courage, and not her manifested disfavor, caused our split-up ; 
I’ve told them both to the contrary, but they contend and 
believe that it was my timorousness. Well, I’ll see. My 
grandma used to say that ‘ seeing is believing, but feeling is the 
naked truth itself.’ I ’m going to write her another note while 
this temperamental attitude lasts ; spells of this kind come and 
go, and sometimes they stay gone.” 

To a young man truly in love Saturday afternoon possesses 
a latent anticipatory craving that is wholly foreign to all other 
days in the week; it is then that a boy sees by mental vision 
his sweetheart in her richest and most lovable attire: the 
fluffy, gauzy, embroidered Sunday gown; the neat-fitting shoe, 
free from tawdry trappings, incasing within its leathern confines 
one of the most worshipful material objects the fancy of man 
has ever selected upon which to bestow his adoration. Oh for 
a George du Maurier every generation till time and tide shall 
be no more, to extol as none but he has ever done the sur- 
passing, marvelous, and extraordinary beauty of the feminine 
foot! A form may be exact, a face doll-like, hair golden, voice 
harmonical, language pure, choice, select, methodical, and a 
countenance possessing not the least trace, sign, or semblance of 
shame, guilt, or regret; but woman’s foot is a perfect work. 
He feels buoyed up and stimulated by that sympathetic at- 
mosphere which surroimds the one he loves ; there is no name 
for this emotion. In vain have thinkers explored the accu- 
mulated pages and traditions of bygone centuries in search 
for some appellation with which to properly clothe with words 
that condition of a youth’s mind when he says honestly and 
earnestly: “ I love the ground she walks on.” This substitute 
and somewhat overworked sentence is what rhetoricians call 
metonomy. The productive soil is ostensibly the sole creditor 
of his affections, when in fact the attraction, charm, allurement, 


164 


MELVIN MACE; 


and delight is that portion of the gentler sex which trips upon 
old Mother Earth. As he nears the day of rest and recreation 
the freighted burdens of lifers concerns are laid aside for a few 
hours (until a vigorous enforcement of business rules compels 
him to again take them up). It was during these hours this 
Saturday afternoon that True determined to once more press 
his suit, knowing full well, as he said to himself, “I can do noth- 
ing more than fail; millions have done likewise.’’ So he sent 
her the following letter by messenger: 

'‘September 25, . 

"Miss Quita Long, At Home: 

''Lady , — It is in the hope that I may be able to persuade 
you into a revision of your judgment concerning me that these 
lines are written and transmitted ; this may be the acme of stupid- 
ity on my part — I have little or no excuse for so doing and will 
perhaps have less defense for having done the same. And sinre 
the rightfulness of my actions is left to your own will for a de- 
cision, it might not be wholly out of place to ask your deter- 
minations of some other questions that have been in doubt 
with me of late. I try hard to be fair, frank, and honest with 
all humanity (including my own egotistic self), and when I ask 
the same treatment from you, I hope the common rules of pro- 
priety are not thereby in danger of violation. Perchance the 
questions I propound should be oral and face to face; how- 
ever, there are valid reasons why they should be written : one 
can retain in memory much better the things read than heard, 
and, moreover, you might some day want to refer to this record. 

"I desire to ascertain, first, if you were trifling with my 
affections when, over a year ago, you told me that I was the 
only man you had ever met who came up to the full measure 
of what you were going to demand from a life-partner, or, 
plainly speaking, a husband. 

"Second, if that standard of mine has been lowered or 
lessened, in what way, please, to what extent, and what sin or 
sins have I committed that I should be cold-shouldered by one 
whom I worshipped with more zeal and earnestness than this 
paper could hold though it contained a million folios? Have I 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


165 


been guilty of some double-edged iniquity to myself and to you 
(my once sweet you)y that refuses to reveal itself and fails to 
develop in me that melancholy emphasis which a clear con- 
science invariably inspires in all sentient beings? Has Nature 
slipped a cog in my case, gone out of and beyond her wonted 
way to violate her own precedents? For surely there should be 
a something within my mind and memory that would, phoenix- 
like, rise up from its ashes and inform me. But a conscious 
innocence is mine; I see it in my waking hours and in dreams; 
it is my shield and buckler. 

“Again, why do you not ask a return of your letters, 
photos, and other mementoes hitherto entrusted to me? 
They Ve had the best care and keeping I am able to bestow, as 
well as the worship of an idolatrous lover; still I fear your 
tender-heartedness is all that stands in the way of asking their 
immediate return. No harm can be wrought, however, and 
certainly none is intended, by quoting from these same letters, 
the one written on the last anniversary of my birth, in which 
you say, ‘Your disposition is the best property ever overlooked 
by an assessor,' alluding to me making my home in a tent in 
order to live with the man I love and one who has done so many 
things for me; and elsewhere, your comment, ‘there seems to 
be an abundance of moral scarcity among young men here- 
abouts; this alone accelerates my admiration for you. Yes, I 
repeat, with renewed emphasis, for you, the rose of my eye.' 
Now, pray, when and where did that rose lose its tint and 
luster, and from whence came the bitter and inclement blast 
that withered its petals? 

“Doubtless the course you take in this instance is right; 
the whole matter might be waved aside by the gentle turn of 
your hand as a silly love-affair of kids; but, fortunately or un- 
fortunately for me, I am quite a long way down stream from 
childhood for one of my age, and as for the pleasures of baby- 
hood and boyhood, they were never mine; if there are no 
joys for me stored up in future niches, truly mine will have 
been a comfortless existence and my limited stock of felicities 
will have little added to them from these pages. Quita, I had 
a right to expect something different than disappointment, the 
kind that confronts me now, didn't I? 


166 


MELVIN MACE; 


‘‘And referring to the postscript of your letter to me June 
loth, which reads: ‘I am so delighted to know that you are 
held in such high esteem by so many others besides myself, for 
they [the girls] out there [alluding to a lawn social, if I remem- 
ber aright] said you were perfect from head to heels/ These 
are your words, your thoughts, not mine; I never uttered or 
thought them — only read them and read them and read them, 
kept on reading them, and am reading them now, and would 
like to read them for ever more, much as I differ with them, for 
it vexes me beyond measure to calculate the long, long distance 
between myself and perfection or anything approaching it. 

“Let me again indulge an ardent hope in these closing 
words that the foregoing will be received in the same spirit of 
mind in which they are sent, and that in making and meaning 
to make myself fully and fairly understood I have not crossed 
over the traditional boundary lines that have always been 
recognized as the lawful limits in affairs of the heart. 

“Awaiting some sort of recognition, if aught be due, I am, 
as ever. 


“Very respectfully. 


True Tarver/' 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


167 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

“Oh, me, this weather is a fright! Minnesota, Manitoba, 
and all the rest of those Northwestern States and Provinces 
must be emigrating bodily to the Ozarks. Gee whiz ! but the 
way old ‘regulars' have been playing Bo-peep with red noses 
around cold corners this morning was a reminder to me from 
away back; I would do without bracers and chasers till the 
Johnny- jump-ups come again before I 'd brave a blizzard like 
this to fire and fall back in any old gin-joint. It must be as 
cold as that winter when ‘Davy Crockett' married Angy 
McLudd. Great gay odd! We danced every night till the 
middle of April to keep from freezing off the roost; and wore 
out all the fiddlers from Spring River to the Arkansas line 
furnishing music, and a devilish poor kind it was at that; 
many's the time I've seen the lead violinist poke his left little 
finger nail up and clip the E string in two, just for a few min- 
utes' rest. Those were the days of the old pussy strings, 
before these new-fangled steel wires began to creak their 
wheezing waltzes and stridulous strains for hugging-matches 
on the run." 

Such were the expressions of McGuire, on whose face, in 
every line, dimple, curvature, and turn of the lip or squint of 
the eye, could be read at a glance his extreme earnestness, 
showing emphatically that there was more to follow. McGuire 
has been musing almost all the whole snowy morning. He 
talked with the easiest ease. Some distinguished writer has said 
that truth is natural on human lips and flows without effort, 
while falsehood requires great exertion and constant concentra- 
tion of thought; measured by this rule, it was evident that he 
was dealing in facts, or thought he was, as they are picked up 
along the meandering avenues of life. He would frequently 


168 


MELVIN MACE; 


stop short off and say: “Now, boys, hear me good, for I'm 
going to give once more an imitation of a man telling the whole 
truth; that's one commodity I do love to deal out from the 
shoulder and by the wholesale. Damn this way of making 
three bites out of one cherry!" Whatever else could be said of 
McGuire (and there had been many shady things laid at his 
door, mostly of a lecherous nature), insincerity had never been 
included in the category of them. He studiously shrank from 
advertising his bygone amatory exploits, although it was well 
known to many an old residenter and residentress that he 
could have related several truthful incidents of an extremely 
racy and interesting variety. 

“I live, like millions of others, under a statute of my own, 
a law not enacted by one legislative house, that looks like a 
special detail from a lunatic asylum to the Capitol building; 
then concurred in later by an august State Senate, most of 
whom have an amorette conveniently staked out at or near the 
seat of government; and ten days thereafter the article num- 
bered eight or some other number, known as ‘offenses against 
public morals and decency, or the public police and miscella- 
neous offenses,' is signed by the State's chief executive, who 
was perforce compelled to leave the quiet retreat and comforts 
of his sacred home life to accept the nomination for governor, 
and was afterwards triumphantly elected by a thoroughly 
intrenched railroad lobby, aided and assisted in their no- 
ble, glorious, and patriotic work by the Brewers' and Liquor 
Dealers' Association. Now, there's morality and rectitude for 
you, with the great seal of the State on it as fresh as roast- 
ed peanuts; there you are, law and law-makers, side by side, 
sinners and saints ; a damn little of its kind will go a long, long 
way with me. John Hay told it about right in his Mississippi 
River steamboat-man, Jim Bledsoe: 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


169 


'He weren’t no saint; them engineers is pretty much all alike: 

One wife in Natchez under the hill, and another one here in Pike.’ 

“The old meeting-house people back in homespun days, 
when they sang ‘I'm glad salvation's free' so loud that one 
could hear them of a still night all over three counties, were no 
gladder than I am that everything and everybody has a defense ; 
we'd be in one deil of a bad plight without it. Of course, 
there's a vast difference between them; lots of these old 
sporty False Steps have got Ananias and Peter beat a big 
block, lying and denying. Now, on the dead square, boys, 
I like my way the best — stand pat and justify; anbody can 
plead frailty, but just think a minute how bummy and hack- 
neyed those old gags are by this time ; Burns and Byron wore 
them sleek as a mole a hundred years ago, and I 'll be Billy-be- 
danged if I'm going to make a clumsy attempt to veil my 
conduct behind their flimsy and cowardly excuses." 

McGuire was comfortably seated in the ofiice of the old 
Joplin Hotel, whose walls will some day be replaced by a super- 
structure, the grandeur and magnificence of which will only be 
equaled in the great metropolitan centers of the Atlantic seaboard, 
and maybe not there. This ofiice had witnessed the star part 
of more mining deals and ventures than perhaps any other spot of 
like dimensions between the Great Father of Waters and the 
Golden Gate; there many a lapidescent heart had cunningly 
devised ways and means of landing on the credulous “tender- 
foot," and many a glad soul had made bee-lines to post ofiice or 
telegraph office conveying to loved ones back East, up North, 
down South, or out West tidings of his lucky strike just made 
and the refusal of fifty, seventy-five, or one hundred thousand 
dollars spot cash for it, when a fortnight before he would have 
been tickled out of breath from skin to core at an offer of 
thirty cents' worth of Fido (Bologna sausage) and a railroad 
ticket home for the whole shooting-match — lock, stock, barrel. 


170 


MELVIN MACE; 


and breech-pin. In this same office many a political intrigue 
had gendered and germinated; sheriffs, prosecuting attorneys, 
circuit judges, and even congressmen were made and unmade 
and then made again; political ambition would here warm up, 
sprout, and vegetate in the ambient atmosphere gently blown 
into the confiding ears of him who was in the “hands of his 
friends'* or thought so till the convention was over and he 
learned that some new man, whose church or lodge friends out- 
numbered his, had slated him down and out; not without 
honor and some sop, for the same convention, with the sagacity, 
forethought, and expediency naturally incident to such heavily 
weighted intellectual bodies, had prepared a soft, easy, smooth, 
fertile, and primrosy place in which to plant him in the county 
committee for the ensuing two years, out of which growth his 
party ringmaster well knew would exude a healing balm, whose 
therapeutical effect had never failed to cure political “sore 
spots and tent-sulking” long before the arrival of Tuesday 
after the first Monday in November, when every cab, hack, 
phaeton, buggy, and brogan would be streaming their muslin 
banners, “Vote for So-and-so for so and so,” “The people's 
choice is your choice,” “Vote it straight as a yard of pump 
water,” et ccBtera ad infinitum. 

Perhaps the office furniture contributed more than any- 
thing else toward McGuire's reminiscential mood and infused 
within him an inescapable desire to re-migrate to the days of 
his young manhood, long before he had seen so many living 
pictures of the savage cruelty daily on exhibition at the very 
heart of our boasted civilization. The writing-desk, with its 
little old longitudinal mirror, spotted here and there and all 
over from the loss of its mercurial background; the local ad- 
vertising placards above and running all along, showing the 
best, easiest, and quickest way to the great American life- 
saving stations, where were dispensed wines, liquors, cigars. 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


171 


etc., day and night, or night and day, owing to when his 
Thirstyship struck the town. 

The painless dentist. Dr. Peter Pullum, who extracted 
the aching grinders and molars and kept a glass jar full of 
them at the foot of his ojfifice stairs (except a very large center 
core, which was filled with brick-dust- and shavings), had his 
picture prominently displayed thereon, his professional eyes 
peering through nose-glasses away up and out and above and 
far, far away, showing his intellectual superiority over all things 
in human form, past and present and to come. 

The Jasper Depot, Hotel, Bus, Baggage, and Transfer 
Line, with a half-tone painting of their best turnout heavily 
laden with commercial salesmen, the most important civilizer 
in all the tide of travel then and now, their grips, sample-cases, 
trunks, trappings, and other belongings galore, also had a 
prominent place beside Solomon Einstein’s Great Southwestern 
Clothing Emporium, with Sol and his whole force of salesmen 
in bold relief tommyhawking prices helter-skelter, leaving be- 
behind them a trail of supposititious, emaciated competitors 
hors de combat. 

Nor were the walls wholly destitute of pictures or wanting 
in wall decorations, for above and behind the cigar-stand were 
suspended the facsimile likenesses of many an accomplished, 
chic, little popular actress, whose shapely form and chromatic 
beauty were daily and hourly doing duty advertising this or 
that “best five cent cigar on earth,” pursing up her sweet little 
lips and holding out a tubular roll of the seductive weed, 
bearing some long, unpronounceable Spanish name in honor of 
the old Madrid monarchy, whose people originated and first 
used the cigar. Thrice blessed be she, this winsome guardian 
of smokers’ rights and their inalienable prerogatives; may she 
forever flourish in this good work, shaking her little sugary fist 
defiantly in the face of all sugarless legislators who have in mind 


172 


MELVIN MACE; 


the old “blue law'* theory, abridgment and restraint of per- 
sonal liberties, who under the guise and garb of moral necessity 
are wont to enact violable sumptuary statutes that attempt to 
limit a limitless enjoyment, who through crass ignorance or 
criminal bigotry would prevent you, me, and all the rest of the 
dull public from sitting quietly under our own vines and fig- 
trees and taking many and many a loving pull, whiff, and puff 
at the most exhilarating pastime known to modern ingenuity. 
McGuire was now gazing at one of these pictures. He had 
just kindled the business end of another ten-center and had it 
going good; between the time of trying to blow one ring of 
smoke through another and the knocking off of the white ashen 
end, he kept right on with his philosophical observations; none 
went away, and when one came in, he took a seat as close to 
him as he could get. Very few questions had been asked him. 
the crowd seemed to fully realize that this was one of his days 
for sermonizing. 

“Howdy, Chris?" he continued, as he shook hands with 
an old-timer, whom he had not met for a year or so. “I was 
just unreeling a little new dope from an old spool. It may be 
batology to you, Chris, but you 're in on it same as the others. 
I take these eruptive spells every year or so, and I 'm past due 
for one now. The temptation to criticise grows on a man bad 
as the booze habit; reckon it’s because faults are sown thicker 
on the ground than merits, and they come up better or they 
are easier to find, one or both; at any rate, I run across more 
of them. They ought to be kept in the best show-window all 
the time. I used to be dead set against fault-finders; hated 'em 
like snakes. I 'm coming out of that in late years; don't know, 
but, taking this little life of ours all 'round like a wedding-ring, 
I expect these old boys who dig up disapprobation and censure 
are about as beneficial to society at large as the sly bunco- 
dealer, who professes to be an overflowing and inexhaustible 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


173 


fountain of clarified optimism, but who wouldn’t credit a 
stranger for an oyster cracker or give distress a pleasant look. 
I ’ve seen ’em ; they preach optimism and practice behind the 
safety wall ; they play to cinches. 

'‘Ever since I let loose of my mother’s apron-strings I’ve 
heard just oceans of this kind of babble: ‘If you can’t say 
something good about a person, say nothing.’ Now that’s the 
most abominable doctrine ever promulgated around this round 
earth, and he who adopts it as a part of his creed or code is 
a coward, crook, or capper, either one, the other two, or all 
three; he may be a bunco-steerer to boot, and possibly not 
know it, but most of them do; and the man who popularized 
that erroneous expression was nothing less than a public enemy 
— in fact, it requires a very strained construction of language to 
call him by so mild a term. Why, you can ask business men in 
this or ’most any other town, ‘What sort of a fellow is Johnny 
Smith, Billy Brown, or Jimmy Jones?’ and what is his reply? 
I say, what is it? Six times out of every half dozen, unless he ’s 
an avowed personal enemy, he’ll say, ‘I don’t know.’ Now, 
you all know he does know. Perhaps he ’s been well acquainted 
with Smith, Brown, or Jones for thirty years; maybe he knew 
his father and grandfather before him; in that case, he’s not 
only a coward et ccBtera, but a blamed old falsifier. That word 
could be shortened a whole lot and still be telling. The 
world’s business is done on credit, gentlemen, and if the big 
mercantile agencies were to always practice that ‘Say nothing 
but good about people,’ in less than twelve months the rogues 
would have everything in sight and a mortgage on next year’s 
crops. 

“The worst feature of these deceptory old foxes and their 
work is that they’re paid for it; if they did it gratis, ’twouldn’t 
show up so crooked in the footings. You never hear a preacher 
riding on a half-fare ticket denouncing transportation com- 


174 


MELVIN MACE; 


panics from his pulpit, and few editors with ‘annual passes* 
pour out their vengeful ire on the way railroads hold up the 
people. I never did. Maybe they have no ire to poiu: out, 
or it*s like Hub Jones* coffee, so dang weak it won*t rim out 
of the cup. Some of these illuminated mornings we*re going 
to come to where their ‘pulpit and press* influence will fail to 
keep the legislatures from passing a law lowering railroad fare 
to two cents per mile or less, and then away goes Mr. Half Fare 
and Mrs. Annual; gone, gone to commingle with the ‘dim 
dreams* of our happy childhood days. You *11 see it, boys; it*s 
coming, just watch. The people’s right forefinger is on the 
trigger ; they *re going to pull hard sometime soon on the best 
and soundest cartridge out of the box, and then the fire-escape 
agents and their influential characters can inventory what their 
‘say nothing* doctrine purchased for them in the hungry 
markets of the world. The best name I can find for that in 
my dictionary is ‘bribery* — the act of giving or receiving 
something of value for a performance that is known to be 
illegal or unjust.** 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


175 


CHAPTER XIX. 

Craft never played fair with womanhood and never in- 
tends to. Cunning seldom fails to over-reach the female. 
The best, noblest, dearest, and most unselfish creature (the 
mother) among the inhabitants of this planet has been cheated 
and cheated, defrauded, and deceived so much, so often, and in 
such multitudinous ways that a fair and unprejudiced mind 
stands aghast at the new schemes of guile that are daily and 
hourly hatched from the same detestable old incubator that 
has lurked in the brain of man ever since deceitful practices 
were first resorted to; and has constituted the chief stock in 
trade, goods, wares, and merchandise on the shelves and in 
cold storage, not subject to pure food inspection laws, with 
a good big portion of our parasitical non-producers. So anx- 
ious are they for temporal power that clericalism has often hy- 
bridized its spirituality with Mammon, and, as may always 
be expected, the product of that union, bat-like, is neither bird 
nor beast, solid nor liquid, but a kind of a dopy coagulum that 
the modernists call “bunk.’' This the local preacher and pas- 
tor of the congregation of which Mrs. Long was a consistent 
member began to deal out in allopathic doses whenever favor- 
able opportunity presented itself and quite frequently when it 
didn’t. This same stall-fed meddler (and their name is legion) 
even made bold to inform Sister Long that her daughter was 
about to marry an open and avowed free-thinker, or, as he 
put it, “a dire enemy of the human family, a dangerous foe to 
civilization, a bald-faced adversary of civic righteousness, an 
unsaved, reckless, and risky citizen,” and many other similar 
counts, all in one long indictment. One thing can always be 
said in Mr. Preacher’s defense for any position that he may 
occupy (taking him as a type) : he needs the money. If he 


176 


MELVIN MACE; 


could block that wedding, it might keep his salary up or even 
get an increase. He didn’t resort to blood, blackmail, and the 
trimmings like the police and private detectives so often do; 
he didn’t have to. 

After essaying to forestall Mrs. Long’s consent to the mar- 
riage of her daughter (out of the ark of safety and the fold of 
the anointed), his next efforts were directed chiefly in ser- 
monizing about those who neglected to “fear and worship’’ — 
meaning, of course, the bridegroom to be — from such texts as 
“ I am the way, the truth, and the life,’’ and so on; and the next 
Sunday he would pounce on the old serpent for beguiling Mrs. 
Adam into the participation of a Ben Davis. Poor old harm- 
less, non-envenomed, pied-bellied blacksnake, the farmers’ and 
gardeners’ best friend; he kills more stump-tailed mice, field- 
mice, wood-mice, rats, moles, gophers, weasels, and other ene- 
mies of agriculture and horticulture in one summer than all 
the roving, licentious Tom-cats do in their proverbial nine life- 
times. And yet that one anathema, “Cursed above all cattle,’^ 
etc., “Dust shalt thou eat all the days of thy life,’’ pronounced 
against him away back yonder and by a non-resident ruler, has 
given him and his dear little ones the decided hot end of the 
poker ever since, and for what might be parenthetically asked 
and answered in the same breath — for telling the truth, the 
whole truth, and nothing but the truth — “Ye shall not surely 
die,^’ etc., “In the day ye eat thereof, then your eyes shall be 
opened [past tense], and ye shall be as gods, knowing good from 
evil.^’ 

He continued his repertoire for weeks and weeks ; honest 
doubters, men who had turned helFs picture to the wall and 
forever quenched its pitiless flames from the inexhaustible 
reservoir of truth, and written on its back with indelible ink, 
“Wasn’t, isn’t, and couldn’t be,” they were excoriated hither 
and yon and excommunicated coming and going like the harm- 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


177 


less old serpent above referred to; were arrested, tried, con- 
victed, and executed without their day in court, without a 
single witness being called in their behalf, with no motion for a 
new trial or change of venue on aw:count of the prejudice of the 
court, no appeal or writ of error in their behalf; he just went 
on as multitudes of his kind have been doing for centuries, con- 
demning to outer darkness, to a never-ending future punish- 
ment, multiplied millions of inoffensive beings, for not closing 
up every inlet and outlet of reason by everyone who was blessed 
with brains and opening wide their cringing and cowardly faith 
in what somebody somewhere in the dim and distant past 
should have said to someone else, who was instructed to tell 
another, was a divine revelation, delivered to him in a dream; 
and bottomed, based, and buttressed on that same dream, that 
vain fancy, wild conceit, and unfounded suspicion, and the 
brainless construction making it an inconceivable jargon of 
ponderous and inexplicable machinery without balance-wheel 
or piston, throttle or brake, with no safety-notch or escape- 
valve, nothing but a fire-box and brimstone, sulphur and more 
brimstone, and a little old demon, Jack-the-ripper engineer, 
with very violent tendencies, horns and hoofs and coat of mail, 
trident, barbed tail, and other immense, cruel savage, fero- 
cious, fierce, barbarous and hard-hearted accoutrements, de- 
signed to give much pain to body and mind, to torment, aflflict, 
and vex. There is just one answer, and one only, to all this 
future punishment dope: the horse-laugh — long, huge, loud, 
hearty, immense. The occasion demands it, self-defense re- 
quires it, self-respect impels it. Victor Hugo says we all have 
one mother — the earth, and that claim of kindred has never 
been or never will be denied. With equal force it may be 
urged that we all have one absolute and complete defense to 
that musty old charge; that ere the hearse backs up and gets 
us we will be parboiling in a room or place of endless torture to 


178 


MELVIN MACE; 


appease the wrath of some unknown foreigner. When anyone 
by hint, slight mention, or suggestion conveys or attempts to 
convey that monstrous and horrid thought of lost, lost or 
eternally damned, just give ’em the merry laugh and nothing 
else, not even a penny. Stick to your own berry-bush; there’s 
no argument to be made against a man’s three daily meals. 
He, they, and every one of them must defend their bread and 
butter. The innocent lamb tried that with the rapacious wolf 
in .^Esop’s day, and failed; and you, kind reader, are booked 
for losing if you try it. You cannot argue with a man against 
his board, clothing, lodging, and laundry bills, but you can 
quit giving them to him in exchange for hellish talk. Bide 
your time patiently; it’s coming, as surely as water flows down 
hill. It’s almost here now; hades doesn’t use one-half as 
much fuel as purgatory did just a few years ago, and the time 
will soon come when the clergy will not mention either, no 
more than they now do infant damnation or witchcraft. 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


179 


CHAPTER XX. 

The luckiest mining companies ever organized generally 
evolve around some mountain camp-fire or beer-table, and 
often other resorts not so nice. A short time before the inci- 
dents hereinafter related had come to pass, Mace, “Joe- Joe,** 
Bruce, and Ole were at rendezvous in the rear of a building on 
Main Street, the front elevation of which was placarded 
“O. F. C.,’* “McBrayer,** “Bock,** “That*s All,** and other 
slake-thirst emblems, and whose inside decorations were fat 
horses, fighting dogs, champion pug-ugly bipeds of the Queens- 
bury ring and rules; now and then a decollette photo of femi- 
ninity pleading to the eye and understanding (if not the ears) 
of each boose-fighter in eloquent silence by the size of the 
small drink she was holding aloft, albeit an advertisement of 
some high-priced “extra dry** or rare tipple above the price of 
the common topers, who fire and fall back and fire again to the 
bugle-call of the same old ten-cent red liquor. 

The bunch had played seven-up for the drinks till they 
were goose-full, and every man felt that if he started pros- 
pecting, he*d strike pay stuff “big as a mule** at the grass 
roots. Much there is, as everyone well knows, in the trite 
saying, “A fool for luck,** but far, far more in that other basic 
truth of creation, ‘ ‘ Lucky as a drunken sailor * * ; and it looks as if 
as much good has inured to mankind from blind chance as from 
all the so-called mental deliberations, prudent considerations, 
weighing, searching, sifting, and sorting the world over. There 
you have it — just stone-blind luck. Many of the world*s tru- 
ly great and glorious events were never contrived, intended, 
or expected; Topsy-like, they just happened. Columbus was 
looking for a water-way to India, not America, when he tripped 
his toe against San Salvador; John A. Sutter, cutting a ditch 


180 


MELVIN MACE; 


to run water on his mill-wheel in California, discovered the 
largest gold mines in history . He didn’t need, want, look for, 
or expect gold; he was tired of making flour for his Mexican 
wife and half-breed children without using pestle and mortar. 

“Big lead,” “big zinc,” “lucky strike” stories were rife 
at that time about Central City, a mining camp on the State 
line a few miles west of the city, and the four concluded to 
prospect thereabouts. The scheme was talked over and 
blocked out in the rough, as it were; before leaving the joint, 
the embryo company afterwards known as the Jack o’ Spades 
started its existence. The next day Mace secured a ten-year 
lease on forty acres at ten per cent royalty to the land-owner, 
and in less than a week the Jack o’ Spades was buying powder, 
picks, fuse, and drills, hiring men and boys, just as the old 
Chipmunk had done years and years agone. Most of this 
world’s affairs have ever had the pendulum habit; sometimes 
the strokes are few, other times many. Despite the regulative 
“F” and “S” hand, the faithful old mundane spring continues 
to unwind itself, boosting the pendulum as far as it can till the 
impregnable force of gravity turns it back; not alone in mining, 
but almost all vocations are similarly affected by this same 
pendulum habit; so with human taste, hopes, conditions, as- 
pirations, and desires — politics, education, religion, all. The 
same voters that made Iowa prohibition territory also made it 
a high-license State ; the same pulpiteers that so sparsely set- 
tled the Elysian Fields of Glory with precious human souls will 
finally compel Satan to hang up a “No Admittance” sign over 
the main entrance to his heated domains and totally depopulate 
the torrid zones of that hot country, and send the happy shades 
in aeroplanes or on roller skates up to mansions in the skies. 

Mace had been playing a long game of ill luck. His 
ventures in the Southern pineries had failed at every point ; in 
Oklahoma, where money grew on trees for some people, it 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


181 


wouldn’t sprout for him in the most fertile valley; and now, 
when the whole business world looked like a conglomerated 
compound of creditors, collectors, and referees in bankruptcy, 
the Jack o’ Spades came swaggering to the forefront as if to 
assert that the law of compensation was, is, and is to be eternal, 
inviolable, and just. 

As soon as the net weekly output of the new zinc mine 
got close to the one-thousand-dollar mark and Mace’s part 
was around two hundred and fifty dollars, he spent more time in 
camp just knocking around than he did at the mine; as was 
his wont, he seldom overlooked a time or place favorable to 
the purpose of stopping little leaks and saving by-products. 
The first summer in the life of the Jack o’ Spades he raised 
enough vegetables on ten rods square of their lease for a dozen 
families, and introduced many horticultural novelties that will 
long be remembred in and about Central City; knowing that 
the mine-water would kill his garden plants, he made a con- 
denser of old cast-away tin cans and other metallic rubbish at 
the mill, and converted the exhaust steam into pure rain-water 
for irrigating, which he always did by night, thus equalizing 
the temperature of the water with natural rain and also pre- 
venting soil-bake. He grew his potatoes in straw-filled rail 
pens, and kept some sweet potato vines all winter in his hot- 
house tent; by the middle of January they were in full purple 
bloom, resembling the morning glory. He hatched three pretty 
little Plymouth Rock chickens by wrapping the eggs in cotton 
batting and putting them in the warm nest with some baby 
Belgian hares, and the old mammy rabbit in time came to be- 
lieve that she was their mother and raised them to full-grown 
poultry. When the rats got numerous about the mill, he fas- 
tened a small looking-glass on the back end of a wire trap, and 
caught them all in one day and night without any bait. He 
would say to the boys: 


182 


MELVIN MACE; 


“Rats can see much better in the day than in the night 
time, but they are compelled to do their work while we sleep, 
hence they take their meals in darkness; but, left unmolested, 
they work in daytime; they’re sociable little creatures, and 
dearly love the company of their fellow-rats; when one sees 
his image reflected in the mirror behind the trap, he hastens to 
make a call on his ratship, and generally stays longer than he 
intended. 

“I have made a life-long study of animals and fowls, and 
am well on to many of their curves. My mother made me 
keep a neighbor’s young geese out of our garden one spring 
when a small boy. It was an irksome all-day job, with little 
rest and no pay. I trained the pea blossoms a little above and 
behind crossed pea-sticks about eighteen inches from the 
ground; Mr. Gosling would jump up for the bloom. After a 
dozen or so had suicided in the angles, the imposingly inclined 
family kept the remainder of their geese at home. 

“Nothing does me more good than to stop little leaks and 
save by-products that were formerly wasted. The world’s at- 
tention will be turned to that some day soon, and then we 
won’t have to go to Chile to see a Valparaiso (Valley of Para- 
dise); we’ll have one at every door. The wasted garbage of 
our cities would, if properly conserved, give every girl in this 
republic two music lessons a week until she would bcome a 
proficient player, and then bring enough money extra to manu- 
facture several hundred thousand good pianos. How many 
billion hard strokes and strong pulls that would take off self- 
denying fathers and mothers who have to shake every pocket 
and stocking hard and often to give the young hopefuls their 
musical education, and if the rosebud beauties didn’t want to 
learn music, that sum might be used to purchase books for free 
libraries; no city, town, or village would long depend on the 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


183 


liberality of Mr. Millionbucks for such purposes. People have 
prayed loud and long, years and years, for permanent injunc- 
tions to stay wholesale and retail wastefulness, but I fear their 
petitions and supplications have got no farther than the dead- 
letter office. 


184 


MELVIN MACE; 


CHAPTER XXI. 

“It’s no good building a fire under a balky horse; he’ll 
only move up far enough to let you burn the wagon.” Mace 
used these words trying to pacify the Jack o’ Spades partners 
at the front end of what promised to be a lawsuit. 

Good paying mines have always been a battle-field of disa- 
greements. Strife will slip through the smallest conceivable 
fissure in the hardest rock. When miners get to making money 
good and fast, it takes able head-work to keep them away from 
lawyers and out of court-houses. This is a common delusion 
of mankind, and is stupidity rather than malevolence. A very 
thin curtain will blind the hope of the best diggings when the 
owners don’t pull together; almost any old thing is a handy 
provocation for a long-drawn-out lawsuit. Mace was deter- 
mined that, come what would, the biography of the Jack o^ 
Spades should be an exception to the general rule of mining 
ventures, and at the slightest threat of an approaching smash-up 
he would use every dart in his pacifying quiver to stay the 
ravages of litigation ; the militant balances would tremble and 
totter for days and weeks, but finally the beam would dip in 
favor of mutual concessions and peace ; and the hungry lawyers 
fasted yet a little longer. 

The rigor of the ensuing winter put all the zinc mines tem- 
porarily out of business. Christmas week the Jack o’ Spades 
placarded their main office door with “Shut down until good 
weather or further orders,” but the company’s treasurer mailed 
a check for six dollars every Saturday night to each of their 
forty-odd laborers during the shut-down. A sample of philan- 
thropy which hitherto has never been contagious, but whose 
active principles, germs, and microbes, should they ever become 
catching, would inure to the betterment of the human fam- 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


185 


ily a million times more than all the schisms, isms, car-end 
harangues, stump speeches, and ante-election promises in a 
thousand years. 

Sub-zero weather held down the boards longer than ever in 
the district's history; northern winds blew cutting blasts over 
hills and hollows, and the winter's death-list was greater by far 
than ever before. Pulmonic, tubercular, and hectic troubles 
thinned the ranks, and the unpitying machines of death ran 
regularly their wonted shifts day and night, heedless of station, 
rank, or grade, and many an old-timer was ushered by the 
mandate of Omnipotence over the dead-line of silence to the 
empty little storage of his memory into sweet oblivion. Mace 
had complained frequently to his callers of feeling badly, but 
none thought him seriously sick. He showed no signs of ill- 
ness; the only token of indisposition was his disuse of tobacco. 
Strong reeds bend and break almost instnataneously. When 
sound and powerful superstructures give way, it is from mud-sill 
to rafters. Hale and robust constitutions succumb to maladies 
whose most malignant missiles fail utterly when leveled at the 
infirm and debilitated. 


186 


MELVIN MACE; 


CHAPTER XXII. 

When May’s high temperature was running Arizona’s 
canyon prospectors, Mohammed-like, to the north side of high 
mountains, McGuire contracted a deep-seated case of Missouri 
fever. He’d had it before, and well knew that about the only 
remedy and treatment yet discovered to which it would yield 
was a railroad ticket to the Mesopotamia of the Louisiana 
Purchase, and leaving sand-dunes, alkali-beds, chaparral, mes- 
quite-bushes, and a half score-or more of chic sehorettes — not 
the very, very best in Christendom perhaps, but about as good 
as it is possible to produce by lineal ancestral line from a 
Spanish buccaneer and a Pueblo Indian maiden of previous 
chaste character three hundred years down Time’s zigzag 
course from the point of contact. 

Arriving in the zinc metropolis, he sought his old friend, 
Bruce, before shave, shine, or hotel, not even taking time to 
remove from his hat-band the last conductor’s blue destiny slip 
with two little lady feet punched through the same, having due 
regard for proportions and dimensions from garter-line to insole. 

Bruce was sober for a rarity, a condition that he didn’t 
prize highly on account of its infrequency. In the den above 
the shop where he had lodged upwards of twenty years, he re- 
lated to McGuire a long list of happenings about the Chip- 
munkers and their organization, which was still intact. Mrs. 
Long and Quita had both ’phoned him the day before relative 
to their next annual banquet. A few members had left the dis- 
trict for the gold-fields of Idaho, Nevada, and elsewhere, but 
the shock for which none were braced was the death of Mace on 
the 13th day of February last past, in his tent on Esquire 
Moore’s mining-land near Central City. The sad event cast a 
serious and sorrow-blighted gloom over the whole camp. His 


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A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


189 


near-by neighbors, seeing no smoke from the trusty Franklin 
stove nor other signs of life, suspected some misfortune had 
befallen him, and on entering the tent beheld his cleanly shaven 
face and perfect form neatly dressed as if prepared for the 
journey in the frigid embrace of that condition which for want 
of a better name we mortals call “the sleep of eternity. “ The 
body rested on the right side, the unclosed eyes fixed as in pro- 
found study towards the still dimly burning lamp upon the 
little center- table; beside the light and leaning against some 
books were two photographs, one of a woman of perhaps 
thirty years, the other that of a little girl of six, and written in 
Mace’s own hand on a fly-leaf torn from one of the books was 
the following : 

''To all to whom this may come or concern: 

“If necessary, Howe will tell the friends who bear 
me to the dreamless couch the story of my disap- 
pointed life-estate, or the part of it they should know, 
and this note will be his authority so to do. 

“MEI.VIN Mace/’ 

Bruce ransacked his rickety old desk in every part and 
place, and finally found the February 1 5th issue of The Miners* 
Messmate^ giving an account of Mace’s burial in Fairview 
Cemetery and some excerpts from Howe’s remarks at the grave : 

"Friends: I have been requested in writing to tell you 
somewhat of one whom we know so well and who has attracted 
us for years by his genius, affection, unselfishness, and phil- 
anthropy. 

“We leave to-day in this field of tears the mortal remains 
of him who by his work and worth furnishes a pattern and copy 
±br successful existence, far, far beyond and above the com- 
monplace. A man of untold sorrow and undivulged grief, 
using his language, ‘whose own scars he was willing to carry 
and conceal, happily knowing they would end with his last 
pulsation.’ During his stay in these parts, it is my belief that 
he has contributed, to the limit of ability and in full measure, 


190 


MELVIN MACE; 


to the common stock and betterment of his species, and made 
the best use of reason according to his light. Disappointed 
in youth, frustrated in manhood by an unsuccessful marital 
venture, which can never be foreseen with tolerable certainty, 
he has rounded out earth’s pilgrimage with one main centralized 
desire — the contribution to our stock of useful things. And 
what more sacred and venerable cause could he have enlisted 
in than making this crude world a more fittingly prepared place 
in which to live? 

“I am so grieved by the unexpected death of my friend 
that I prefer to postpone until some more suitable season to 
speak at length of the sad features in the history of his life 
which he from time to time has imparted to me and for which I 
am commissioned by this manuscript, to the authenticity of 
which all will bear witness who knew him. 

'‘The most aged inhabit this sphere but a little day. It 
is not given to all men, nor a majority of them, to inscribe their 
names in granite or bronze high upon the enduring monuments 
of human achievements. We cannot all be major-generals 
or field marshals, conspicuous writers, wise diplomats, saga- 
cious statesmen, or strategists. Diversification is one of Na- 
ture’s inexorable decrees, and he who wields the pick, drill, 
shovel, dynamite, and fuse to bring from the secreted store of 
Nature her indispensable perquisites of the comforts of civ- 
ilization deserves as much praise as the most illustrious and 
distinguished. 

“In conclusion, I venture to predict that Mace’s proverbs, 
practical truths, and inestimable utterances will long live and 
flourish; and, without undue bias, I candidly hope that we will 
each and all fully appreciate the valuable influences of his pre- 
cepts. The human hive holds many drones; millions of men 
originate nothing nor improve on methods they found awaiting 
their advent, and are ushered off the stage of action without 
having ever planted a tree, dressed a stone, drained a bog, or 
shaped a sweet and sympathetic sentence to steal away life’s 
depressing cares and nerve men to successful efforts. 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


191 


“The volume is ended, the record is closed, the last thread 
broken. This is finality. Melvin Mace, courteous, sympa- 
thetic, dignified, has retired to rest according to the lawful and 
harmonious system of things that are, have been, and, for 
aught we know, will be, while the worlds of cosmos roll and 
Time's chilling and killing frosts continue to wreck and ruin 
the children of men and women." 

A few other noteworthy incidents were scanned by McGuire 
in the paper, then he and Bruce drifted into a general resume 
of local historical scraps — odds and ends, that often dovetail 
themselves together and fit up better when compared by close 
observers two, three, or five years from the date of their en- 
actment. Bruce said he had a double-entry account of almost 
everything, and quite a bunch of the old-timers' names were on 
the red side of the ledger for amounts ranging from a dime up 
to a thousand cold cash dollars. 

“Well, yes," he continued, “I have always given good 
advice, but seldom taken my own medicine; I've tried my 
dangdest to shake the crooks and grafters, but up to date my 
efforts have been a joke; they'll wake me up at the dead hour 
of midnight, wish me a happy Christmas and a hell of a New 
Year, then touch me for a hundred until to-morrow, which was 
never known to be on the schedule." 

“What became of Van?" 

“You mean Van Noggle?" 

“Yes." 

“Ah, that doveish little leg-puller! she left here with the 
preacher's family." 

“What preacher?" asked McGuire. 

“Why, that one in her breach-of-promise case against me, 
or was to be; he married her sister a dozen years ago in Illinois, 
long before any of the pack ever scented a dollar made in a zinc 
mine. After she sued me, he moved here and preached pub- 
licly and plugged privately for my money, but he failed to 


192 


MELVIN MACE; 


connect. When the damage was ditched, they ducked for 
other fields. I’ve never seen her since, but hear that she’s 
weaving a net in Texas for a cattleman. Oh! it’s a tough job 
to suppress these old girls when they get money and man on 
the brain at once; they push and pull, but not for the sake of 
excitement or health — it ’s the hard-earned in the palm they ’re 
after. 

'‘Oh, yes. Mack, I was about to overlook a bet. Mr. 
Preacher lost out as usual, for last October’s ides witnessed one 
of the most beautiful weddings at the home of the bride’s 
mother that has been seen in this district for years. Miss 
Quita was faultlessly attired and was given away by her uncle 
(her mother’s brother), who, as I remember, was much in com- 
pany with the family and had for months and months previous 
been investigating the habits, character, and moral status of the 
bridegroom to be. He it was who had intentionally taken his 
sister’s business interests from the management of the firm of 
Howe & Tarver, perhaps to try out the junior member’s af- 
fection for his winsome niece.” 

Between Ourseeves. 

Individuals for a short time lament the loss of their fellow- 
creatures, but cities, towns, and villages rarely hang crepe on 
their corporate limits or send sorrowful and sympathetic reso- 
lutions to the family of the deceased. “Mourners go about 
the streets,” but the streets never go about the mourners. All 
in all, this may be the best, for our little cup of grief can never 
hold the ocean of unshed tears the world’s cooperage must of 
necessity contain. Besides, the interest on borrowed sorrow 
accumulates so rapidly that no legitimate investment can re- 
turn profit enough too keep it down, much less'pay the principal. 
It not infrequently happens that he who has fought the hardest 
on the picket-line and outposts of progress, whose commercial 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


193 


activity and hard business sense has doubled the value of 
every piece of property in town, is the most superlatively 
despised man in the municipality. Public opinion is the most 
cruel, unrelenting, infernal tyrant that ever sat on a throne; 
its malicious Juggernaut, when well under way, cannot be side- 
tracked by the fairest peace-offering known to diplomacy ; and 
this is another unaccountable feature of human nature; just 
why mankind have been so constructed, up to going to press, 
we don’t lay any claim to knowing, and are still waiting for 
evidence. It may develop that we are a hoggish conglomera- 
tion that won’t bear good treatment, and if this diagnosis is 
correct, the remedy may be somewhere between higher educa- 
tion and the fattening-pen, with the pen in italics. 

Recapitulating the principal points of interest and local 
happenings, Bruce resumed his conversation with McGuire the 
following Sunday, after Mack had rested up, gotten his bear- 
ings, and was somewhat reconciled to the heavy atmosphere 
of the low altitude. 

‘‘I’m getting up in years — nearly three score and ten, and 
I feel it; aside from whisky-drinking, and that hasn’t cost very 
much, I have been fairly good to myself. I have long since 
learned to drink alone. Now, since I have quit the small loan 
business, my property is in the very best condition, and has 
been paying large dividends and interest ever since I have had 
it. It has more than doubled since we sold the Chipmunk. I ’ll 
tell you in secrecy that I intend it shall go back to those who 
made it for me — or, rather, the ones who made it possible for me 
to make it, and to the children in this city. I have my last 
will and testament already made and properly witnessed, and 
if there be such a thing as an air-tight and water-proof will, 
mine certainly is, for I had nine physicians to witness my sig- 
nature, and I think they have enough professional honor to 


194 


MELVIN MACE; 


keep them from witnessing such an instrument made by a 
lunatic. I am not the father of any child, nor ever was, but 
out of an abundance of precaution, I have provided that should 
the Supreme Court of this State guess otherwise, then my 
trustees are directed to give said successful claimant thirteen 
dollars and a cheap, open-faced watch with the letters ‘ P. L. T.’ 
(meaning ‘perjurer, liar, and thief) printed on the dial. 

“The disposition I make of my belongings may not please 
many grown-ups, but it certainly suits me and the kids. I am 
going to bequeath to every surviving employee of the Chip- 
munk five thousand dollars, and a like sum to the lineal heirs 
of such as may not be living at the time I kick the bucket, but 
nothing to collateral kindred. I don’t dote very much on col- 
lateral relatives. Nine times out of ten, one owes more to 
strangers than to them; very few successful men are indebted 
to older brothers for boosts in early life ; after the debt we owe 
our father and mother is paid, if it ever is, our account on the 
score of relationship is squared. There may be fortunate ex- 
amples different from this general rule, but they are extremely 
uncommon, and when encountered can be attributed to nothing 
but pure luck. 

“Now, Mack, after the Chipmunk people are remembered 
as I have said, which will take about two hundred thousand 
dollars, I intend to have my trustees invest the remainder of 
my estate in Government bonds and municipal bonds, the in- 
terest on which, after expenses are paid, I want expended on 
what I call ‘ confection day ’ or days, in the public schools. 
You will understand it better from the instrument itself. I 
will read you the seventh paragraph : 

“ T request and direct that said sum and amount of an- 
nual interest so remaining, after all expenses are fully paid, 
shall be invested in and expended for candies, confections, and 
sweetmeats of as pure and wholesome kinds as can be obtained; 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


195 


that said confections shall be distributed, beginning on the 
first Friday in each December of each year, among the school- 
children in this city, each child to be given one avoirdupois 
pound of said confections, the distribution of which shall con- 
tinue on each succeeding Friday till all sweetmeats and con- 
fections are issued. I direct and request that said distribution 
be made at the adjournment of the schools, and suggest that 
said gifts be known as ‘'Bruce’s confections. ” ’ 

“Now, I fully realize that my will is certain to meet the 
disapproval of ’most everybody in these parts except the bene- 
ficiaries, and that alone adds force to my already sufficient 
reason for making it. I owe the grown-ups nothing (in fact, 
nobody owes them much). If I did to any great extent, I’d 
feel like repudiating the debt. A majority of all the grown 
people I’ve had business dealings with in life have either 
trimmed me or tried to. Getting something for nothing is a 
mighty fad in the business world, made up mostly of cold- 
blooded animals. 

“A lot of timber- wolves have been trying to get me to 
change my will and leave a big chunk to some alphabetically 
named rescue home for fallen damsels; I suppose these old 
pirates would like to be trustees. There are lots of jokes 
fioating around on the backwaters of Slumdom, but this female 
rescue business is Exhibit A, the biggest trump card in the 
pack. I was in one of our largest cities a few weeks ago, and a 
friend showed me a mammoth department store that con- 
tributes thousands of dollars every year to one of these rescue 
homes on the lake front, and yet the inordinately low wages 
paid by them to the poor, proud, silly, sweet-faced, ginger- 
breadish competitrix trips at least thirty dozen for every one 
rescued— yes, it does! Mack, I believe that whenever a mer- 
chant, hotel-keeper, or anybody else fails to pay wages suflS- 
cient to keep, properly board and clothe their hirelings, that 


196 


MELVIN MACE; 


very day the law should force them into bankruptcy and out 
of business. Purify the fountain-head. Treat the cause. No 
one should be poisoned to test the efficacy of a newly discovered 
antidote. Everyone with the brains of a fishworm knows 
what eventually becomes of an underpaid woman in a city ; 
ninety per cent go through the same door, and no rescue home 
ever did or ever will turn their erring steps and viperine lives 
back to paths of purity and away from bad mixtures ; it ^s a 
thousand to nothing better that they and every one of them 
remain in virginal status quo than to dream along the line of a 
rescue proposition.” 

AFTER THE BATTLE. 

A score of years have glided by since the late Mace and 
Ole dynamited the big spider and cashed his body and limbs in 
the hungry markets of the business world. Metallic substances 
from the Chipmunk have entered into the formation, erection, 
and construction of probably more enterprises of thrift and use- 
fulness than from any other zinc mine yet discovered and devel- 
oped. It is a thrilling source of delight to him who scribbles 
these lines in commemoration of those who worked so well to once 
more emphasize the importance of success with the stubborn 
things that confront all of us. There never was a search- 
warrant issued to hunt for a dreamer. I aniy thou art, he is, 
is the gist of every grammar printed. A “has been” doesn't 
know how to act in a banking-house, much less change paper 
and ink into goodly wads of 'Tong green” — yea, fine gold. 
The tenure of our American principles depends solely upon the 
comfortably fixed middle class; they do the doing — the real 
poor cannot, and the exorbitantly rich never did and will not. 
Sometimes they make attractive promises, but their real con- 
tributions are to self-aggrandizing libraries or institutions to 
perpetuate their names in the glowing spotlights of the future. 


A STORY OF A ZINC MINE. 


197 


To our Chipmunk friends who are still on this side of the 
Great Divide we extend a hearty hand-shake clear back to the 
cuffs — no little, frigid, two-finger jerk — and again assure them 
that the strenuous conquest is nearly over. Bruce has pro- 
vided you with enough to buy a good farm in the Ozarks, where 
you can raise everything from red apples and red Leghorn 
chickens to red-headed children, and when you get the five 
thousand, which is an absolute certainty, you had best heed 
the admonition of your well-wisher and procure the farm forth- 
with, for the day will soon be when the soil-owners of North 
America will be the lords of creation, living the longest, easiest, 
happiest, and most contented lives of all. And as to the oth- 
er co-laborers, who are basking in the refulgent radiance of 
Lethean rest, we are comforted by the reflection that while they 
are precluded from participating in the comedies of the hour, 
they are also exempt from the tragical, leaving with them the 
benediction of Thomas Hall : 

mighty cradle this world of ours, 

That swings with the days and years, 

With its sheets of snow and its pillows of flowers. 

To the music of the spheres; 

And it rocks the silent millions of dead 
So softly they never move. 

But sleep like children, and it is said 
They dream a long dream of love.” 


. The End. 



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